Pink
by KelseyO
Summary: Quinn starts senior year with pink hair, black clothes, a nasty smoking habit, and a hatred of Rachel Berry. But what happens when Rachel is the only person who sees through her new attitude? And what if she doesn't really hate Rachel at all? Post 3x01.
1. Perfect

**My first Glee fic ever. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

><p>Quinn has been sneaking into the auditorium at night. She gives the janitor a pack of cigarettes a week in exchange for him keeping the side door unlocked; a perfect arrangement, because she hates those damn cigarettes, but if she wasn't constantly buying new ones, the Skanks would get suspicious.<p>

She's always quiet as she steps up to the stage, even though she knows there's no one there to hear her, but she likes the silence all the same. The only sound she wants is the shy tinkling of the piano keys once she takes a seat on the bench and lets her fingers wander through whatever melody is stuck in her head that night.

As she plays, she can see the reflection of her hair against the flawless shine of the grand. Sometimes she tries to picture her old hair color, that classic blonde that everyone always thought looked so gorgeous, downright angelic even, but then she remembers the cheerleading and the manipulating and sleeping with Puck and being pregnant and everything else that came with that version of her, and her eyes focus on the pink again and she feels relieved.

Relieved because since she traded in the red-and-white spandex for ripped black t-shirts and got her nose pierced and dyed her hair, nobody has been talking about her pregnancy or her failed relationships or how much of a loser she is for being in glee club. Now they gossip about this new look of hers, and how she only goes to half of her classes, and how she smokes under the bleachers with the most feared group of girls at school.

She's changed the conversation, and that's all that matters.

Tonight she's practicing the intro to a song she's been listening to a lot recently. It's one of the saddest songs she's ever heard, but the music is beautiful and somehow, the melody just fits right now. She plays it over and over again, slowly, so she gets it right, and begins to lose herself in it. She doesn't sing—she never does—because just hearing herself play it is all she needs. She doesn't need to sing, she doesn't need her friends who aren't really her friends, and she doesn't need glee club.

When Quinn hears a door open, she stops abruptly and darts backstage. She hides in the shadows as the memory of the last note she played hangs in the air, a faint echo that she hopes goes unnoticed by whoever is intruding on her session.

Her stomach drops when she sees Rachel Berry walking up the middle aisle. It's been a week since Rachel found her to try and convince her to return to Glee, a week of avoiding the girl by any means necessary. And now Rachel is _here_, walking toward the stage with a soft and yet determined look in her eyes, and Quinn is not ready for this.

Her mind scrambles to come up with something to say, snarky responses to whatever Rachel might ask her, because she needs to be prepared. Rachel is the only person on the planet who can yank off Quinn's façade like it's a poorly-made Halloween mask. Quinn hates that. She hates how much Rachel seems to care about her. She hates it so much that she can barely hold back a smile whenever she looks up at her with those big brown eyes and speaks to her with that impossibly gentle voice.

She watches Rachel step up onto the stage and sit in front of the piano. She watches her arrange her fingertips against the keys, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Rachel begins to play. The chords sound familiar but she can't quite place them, and she finds herself almost frustrated by this. But then Rachel begins to sing, and Quinn's heart nearly stops.

_You're so mean when you talk  
>About yourself, you were wrong<br>__Change the voices in your head  
><em>_Make them like you instead_

Quinn's heard this song before, but never this way. Rachel's voice is soft, almost delicate, and she's slowed the tempo, just like Quinn had been doing with her song.

_So complicated  
><em>_Look happy, you'll make it  
><em>_Filled with so much hatred  
><em>_Such a tired game  
><em>_That's enough  
><em>_I've done all I could think of  
><em>_Chased down all my demons  
><em>_I've seen you do the same_

Her breathing is ragged. She can feel tears behind her eyes. Her hands are trembling; she crosses her arms and tries to ignore it.

_Pretty, pretty please  
><em>_Don't you ever, ever feel  
><em>_Like you're less than, less than perfect  
><em>_Pretty, pretty please  
><em>_If you ever, ever feel  
><em>_Like you're nothing  
><em>_You are perfect to me_

Rachel stops there, letting the final chord float off into the distance. She rises from the piano and turns toward the shadows, her eyes almost reaching where Quinn is standing, but they stop just short. The corner of her mouth lifts into the smallest of smiles and she promptly exits the auditorium, leaving Quinn to try and figure out what the hell just happened.

* * *

><p><strong>Songs used:<strong>

**"Breathe Me" by Sia (what Quinn is playing on the piano)**  
><strong>"Perfect" by P!nk<strong>


	2. Walls

Quinn is surprised that Rachel doesn't jump into stalker mode at school the next day. She thoroughly expected the girl to try talking to her about the song, about Quinn's trips to the auditorium since Rachel obviously figured out her routine somehow. Then again, Rachel's always been one to figure things out.

Rachel actually keeps her distance, and Quinn is grateful. She's still not sure what to think of this whole thing, of Rachel singing to her, of _what_ Rachel sang to her. She had to delete it from her mp3 player last night because she couldn't bear to hear it again. Or maybe she just hated that it wasn't Rachel's voice.

It's really for the best, she decides, because she was planning to avoid her anyway. She doesn't want another sappy monologue about how much the Glee club needs her, about how she has talent up the ying yang, about how this is going to be the year where all of their dreams come true. None of that is true, and she doesn't want to hear it.

She meets the Skanks under the bleachers after school. While Sheila rants about the new dress code that Figgins announced today, Quinn experiments with how little she can smoke her cigarette without any of the girls noticing. She lets it burn between her fingers and flicks off the leftover ash every few minutes, all while staring vaguely in the direction of the football field where the Cheerios are enduring their third straight hour of practice. She thinks about how much she doesn't miss the rigor of that lifestyle, and a tiny smirk drifts onto her face.

"Yo, Quinn. What are you smiling about over there?"

Quinn's attention snaps back to the group beside her. "Nothing," she says smoothly, taking a quick drag from her cigarette now that all eyes are on her. "Just wondering if bulimia or anorexia is the preferred diet of an average Cheerio. I can see their ribs from here."

One of the girls snorts. "What losers. Who wants to see twenty skeletons dancing around in skirts?" She gives Quinn a brief once-over. "I can't believe you used to be one of them."

She inhales from her cigarette again; she's relieved that it's almost gone. "That makes two of us," she growls. She's been using this voice a lot lately. People back off when they hear it.

After a while they disperse and Quinn climbs up to the top corner of the bleachers. She pulls a book out of her bag and begins to read; by now Cheerios practice is over and the field is quiet. Quinn likes the quiet.

She's nearly at the end of the twelfth chapter when she hears footsteps clanging up the metal steps. She looks up to see Rachel heading right toward her. Her pulse starts racing and she immediately drops her gaze back to her book. Rachel comes to a stop a few feet away and Quinn pretends not to notice her.

"Hello, Quinn."

Quinn doesn't react.

Rachel hesitates. "Do you mind if I sit down?" She seems to have already guessed that Quinn won't answer and she takes a seat anyway. "I… I saw you hanging out with the Skanks before."

She's read the same sentence fifteen times now.

"You don't… you don't seem very interested in being part of their group."

I'm pretty sure I also don't seem very interested in what you're telling me, Quinn thinks, but she remains silent.

"I noticed that you simply stared off into space while they conversed. You were clearly ruminating about other topics that are more relevant to your personal life. And it's also quite clear that you loathe smoking despite the fact that the Skanks quite enjoy that disgusting habit." She pauses. "Quinn… why do you hang out with them? You're obviously partaking in activities that you otherwise wouldn't, and you've drastically changed your appearance to be identical to theirs…"

"You don't know me." The sentence slips out, her voice low and raspy, and it makes Rachel flinch.

"I-I thought we got rather close last year, a-and—"

Quinn looks up now. "You don't know me," she repeats, slower this time, enunciating each word.

Rachel swallows and her eyes fall to her feet. "Quinn, I know you're going through some difficulties, probably some that I can't begin to fathom… but please know that I'm your friend, and whatever it is, you can talk to me. I really want to help you."

Quinn hates how sincere she sounds. She hates it so much that it makes her heart flutter just a little. "Leave me alone, Rachel."

She smiles. Quinn stares at her in disbelief for a moment but then makes herself turn back to her book. She can still see Rachel beaming in her peripheral vision.

"You're probably wondering why I'm smiling, but you don't want to ask me because it would ruin your apathetic image. So I'll just tell you. It's because you just called me Rachel in a situation when you could have easily resorted to Stubbles or Manhands or RuPaul. It leads me to believe that you do indeed think of me as your friend." She rises and begins her descent down the bleachers. "Goodbye, Quinn."

Quinn hates her so much that something inside of her wants to call out to Rachel. She wants to shout out her name and thank her for seeing and for noticing and for _caring_, but she doesn't. She just hates Rachel so much.

* * *

><p>That night in the auditorium she sticks with playing scales. They're boring and repetitive, but she's not in the mood for anything else. She doesn't want passion or emotion; she just wants neutral and safe.<p>

The door opens and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She scrambles into the shadows once again and, just like last time, watches in horror as Rachel strolls through the seats and up to the piano and makes herself at home. She never considered that Rachel might come here again.

Rachel begins playing and the melody sounds happy and positive. Lighthearted. Quinn would have groaned if she wasn't hiding. Rachel takes a breath and the first verse begins pouring from her lips.

_The story of my life, I can't quite comprehend  
><em>_Don't tell me if you know how it ends  
><em>_When everywhere you go feels like a mirror maze  
><em>_And you're not sure how you're stuck in this place_

Quinn is really starting to hate ballads. Almost as much as she hates Rachel.

_When you've got nowhere else to go  
><em>_And you're lost within your own home  
><em>_And you're trying so hard to win  
><em>_You keep trying, it's embarrassing  
><em>_And how you don't even know  
><em>_But you know you're off the tracks  
><em>_And how did you get in here  
><em>_Thinking, how did you get in here_

The lyrics are putting a lump in her throat. She tries to swallow it, but the emotion in Rachel's voice is keeping it firmly in place.

_I'll help you break the walls down  
><em>_I'll help you break the walls down  
><em>_I'll bust you out and take you home  
><em>_Believe you me, you are not alone  
><em>_I'll help you break the walls down_

Rachel is singing louder now. Quinn hates it.

_Does anybody know where February went  
><em>_I was hoping that by now it would be the end of this  
><em>_When you open up a book and read a thousand lines  
><em>_But you don't really read, you just move your eyes_

Quinn listens while she goes through the chorus again, her intensity slowly building until Quinn can barely take it anymore. She finally feels the song coming to a close and clenches her jaw; she can get through this.

_And all the weight you carry  
><em>_Will disappear, and I will willingly  
><em>_Embrace you so you lay your head  
><em>_So come on home  
><em>_Come on home, come on home_

The outro takes Quinn off-guard and it takes everything she's got not to let tears spill again. She watches through blurred vision as Rachel walks calmly off the stage and exits the auditorium.

* * *

><p><strong>Songs used:<strong>

**"Walls" by The Rocket Summer**


	3. Emergency

Sometimes Quinn wishes she were invisible. If she dresses perfectly and acts perfectly and keeps that perfect smile plastered to her face, everyone stares at her with adoration that she doesn't deserve. If she wears these dark clothes and this mussed hair and this lazy scowl on her face, everybody stares at her like she's an alien.

Would it be so bad if people just didn't look at her at all?

She ponders this idea as she opens her locker. She has to go to English today because she skipped the last two classes, but she likes the book they're reading and she's actually kind of looking forward to going. She shakes her head a bit at this thought. Her appearance is the only Skank-worthy thing about her; on the inside she's still Quinn Frabray, who's been hardwired since first grade to get straight A's. So much for being a badass.

Quinn stuffs her notebook in her bag and closes her locker, then prepares a blank stare that she keeps hoping will get her from point A to point B without anyone trying to talk to her. She passes all of the people that she used to glare or sneer at until they did what she wanted, and yet they worshipped the ground she walked on. She had an effect on people, and she enjoyed it while it lasted, but now she doesn't understand it at all. Why would you revere such a manipulative bitch?

She is about to walk into her class when she sees a couple jocks gathered around something. Her natural desire to always know what's going on in the school takes over, and she peers around the letterman jackets. The pimped-out wheelchair she spent the past year dancing around comes into view and she swallows. Artie.

"Guys, _please_ don't do this," he begs, his eyes glued to the slushy one of the football players is holding. "That stuff always gets stuck on my chair. Last time it took weeks to clean it all off."

They only laugh and grin at each other. The guy with the slushy draws the cup back and Artie holds up his hands to shield his face.

"Hey." She doesn't mean to say it out loud, and she almost claps her hand over her mouth. She tries to remain calm as the jocks turn toward her, identical smirks on all of their faces.

"Well, if it isn't Quinn Fabray, the psycho punk slut. What happened to the smokin' Bible-thumper who looked so hot in that Cheerios uniform?"

She suppresses the glare that threatens to explode over her face, and instead works to keep her expression neutral and bored. "You done?"

His smile diminishes for a briefest moment, only to be replaced by a smirk. He glances back at Artie and then faces her again, and she doesn't like the glint in his eyes. And then the cup in his hand is thrust in her direction, and within seconds she's covered in ice-cold, strawberry-flavored slushy.

She flinches at the abrupt sensation and she can't stop a quiet gasp from escaping her lips.

"You gotta watch what you say now, Fabray," he says, coming closer until his face is inches from hers. "You're not at the top anymore. You're nobody." He turns back to his buddies and they walk away as a unit, trading high-fives and guffawing at each other.

Quinn hasn't moved yet. Her fists are clenched at her sides and her shoulders are stiff, and she can feel something rising inside of her. Every person in the hall is staring at her, some of them mocking, most of them pitying. To her right, Artie is looking at her sadly, and she can tell he has no idea what to say or do.

She looks to her left, which ends up being a horrible idea, because she's standing right in front of the doorway to her English class, which she shares with Rachel, who's staring at her from her desk with a horrified expression on her face.

God, she hates that face.

And so she walks away as fast as she can. She doesn't run, because then it would look like she's desperate or upset or about to cry, and she's not any of those things. She walks and walks and walks, right past the bathroom down the hall because that's the first place somebody would look for her. No, she walks to the bathroom on the other side of the school that has constant plumbing problems and is therefore avoided by most of the student body.

Quinn bursts through the door, rips a paper towel from the dispenser, and wipes her face until her vision is clear again. She pauses, grips the edge of the sink, looks into the mirror at her smeared makeup and the soggy mess all over her, and she bursts into tears.

She hates this. She hates how she looked, how she acted, who she was. She hates how she looks, how she acts, and who she is. She hates all of it. High school, boyfriends, cheerleading, being popular, caring what people think about her. She wants it all to be done.

Her sobs are quiet enough but they echo eerily through the deserted room. The sound is odd in her ears; she spent all summer pushing all of these emotions away, holding them down, so no one would ever see her like this. She's already shown so much weakness in her life, and she can't bear the thought of someone witnessing her break down again. She just needs to suck it up and she'll be fine. Everything will be fine.

"Quinn?"

The small voice nearly gives her a heart attack. She snaps to attention and registers the sight of Rachel in front of her and tries desperately to stop crying, all at once. She only succeeds in two out of the three.

"What do you want?" Her voice cracks on the last word. She sounds way too tired, way too defeated for her liking.

"I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw what happened and I immediately went to the bathroom to look for you but you weren't there, and then I realized that you might have gone to a more remote location for maximum privacy while you recovered from your encounter."

Quinn turns back to the sink and examines the contrast of her chipped black nails against the white porcelain. She's shivering a little because her shirt and arms are still covered in slushy.

"Let me help you with that," Rachel offers, fetching several paper towels and dampening them under the faucet one by one. "I'm rather adept at this sort of thing."

Quinn looks at Rachel now. Was that supposed to be a joke?

Rachel clears her throat and offers Quinn a paper towel. She takes it and begins with her face, cleaning it a second time because there's mascara running from her eyes and she looks disgusting.

"You don't need to wear so much eyeliner, you know. Your eyes are beautiful without all the makeup."

Quinn kind of wants to thank her for the compliment, but she can't get the word past her throat. So she continues wiping until the soggy paper is covered in black, and then Rachel hands her another one.

"If I'm being honest with you, though, I do somewhat enjoy that shirt on you. I didn't realize you had such exemplary abdominal muscles."

At this, Quinn cocks an eyebrow at her and Rachel blushes slightly.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It is perfectly acceptable for a female to observe another female's particularly impressive physique."

Quinn stares into the sink as her tears continue to fall. "I'm not impressive," she whispers, almost by accident.

She swears she can see Rachel's bottom lip trembling out of the corner of her eye. "Quinn… that's not true. That's not true at _all._" Rachel slowly moves closer to her and gently rests her hand on Quinn's shoulder. Quinn stiffens for the briefest moment, but then she can't help but relax. She hates the warmth that's spreading through her arm. "All those times when I tell you how talented you are… how pretty you are… I'm not lying. I would never lie to you."

Quinn is gripping the sink so hard that her elbows are shaking. Rachel notices.

"A-are you cold? We could try washing your shirt in the sink but you might be better off just changing into a new one… I have an extra shirt in my locker if you'd like to borrow—"

"Stop." Quinn nearly chokes out the word. She can barely stand hearing Rachel being so concerned, so kind, so thoughtful. She expects her to object to the interruption, but she doesn't. She sniffs and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Thank you for everything, but please, just go."

Rachel doesn't move except for withdrawing her hand. "Why do you want me to leave?"

Because I hate you, Quinn thinks. "I'm sure you love people watching you fall apart."

"Is that what you're doing? Falling apart?"

Quinn lets out an exasperated sigh and finally turns to fully face her. "What do you want from me, Rachel? Do you want me to collapse into your arms, spill my soul to you, tell you every dirty little secret that's eating me up inside?"

Rachel looks completely calm. "I want you to trust me."

Quinn sees the absolute honesty in her eyes, hears it in her voice, and she hates it with every fiber of her being.

"I have to go," she says, and she brushes past the brunette and is out the door before either one of them can say anything else. She's walking fast again and she doesn't stop until she reaches her car in the parking lot. She drives home at double the speed limit and takes a long, hot shower, scrubbing every inch of her body until the last trace of strawberry is gone. She spends twice as long on her hair just to make sure nothing has escaped the reach of her soap, and as she washes, she sees faint pink water swirling around the drain. She wonders how long this hair color is going to last, and she wonders what will happen when the blonde comes back. She wonders if everything will go back to the way it was, if everyone will love her again and she'll return to the top of the social ladder.

She wonders if she even wants any of that to happen.

* * *

><p>When Quinn goes to the auditorium that night, she doesn't bother with any piano playing. She goes directly backstage and sits on the floor in the shadows with her knees folded up to her chin. She's not sure if Rachel will come again, but if she does, she's almost positive she wouldn't survive being surprised a third time.<p>

She waits and waits and when the door opens after what feels like an eternity, she manages to not have a panic attack. Quinn can't see her from behind the curtains but she hears Rachel's footsteps come up on stage, hears her sit down at the piano, and hears her clear her throat quietly before beginning.

Quinn doesn't recognize the intro, but something about the melody seems desperate, maybe even frantic. When Rachel sings the first lyrics, her heart begins to pound.

_I think we have an emergency  
><em>_I think we have an emergency  
><em>_And if you thought I'd leave, then you were wrong  
><em>'_Cause I won't stop holding on  
><em>_We have an emergency  
><em>_So are you watching me  
><em>_Well I can't pretend that I don't see this_

She thinks back to what happened in the bathroom, and her eyes are already stinging with moisture. _"I want you to trust me."_

_It's really not your fault  
><em>_When no one cares to talk about it  
><em>_Can we talk about it_

Rachel jumps into the chorus and her voice soars through the empty auditorium.

'_Cause I've seen love die way too many times  
><em>_When it deserved to be alive  
><em>_And I've seen you cry way too many times  
><em>_When you deserved to be alive_

Quinn is crying freely now. She doesn't understand how Rachel's voice can destroy her like this. Rachel softens her tone as the song shifts gears, and suddenly it's more hopeful.

_These scars, they will not fade away_

The single line sends chills down Quinn's spine. Her eyes drift close as Rachel plays her way through a short solo before returning to the chorus, but this time she sings it as gently as she can while playing the piano keys at an equally low volume.

'_Cause I've seen love die way too many times  
><em>_When it deserved to be alive  
><em>_And I've seen you cry way too many times  
><em>_When you deserved to be alive  
><em>_Alive_

Quinn isn't sure how long she sits there after Rachel leaves.

* * *

><p><strong>Songs used:<strong>

**"Emergency" by Paramore**


	4. Silence

"What the hell, Quinn?" It's the first thing out of The Mack's mouth when Quinn shows up under the bleachers the next day.

She arches an eyebrow. She's wearing an outfit that the Skanks themselves picked out for her at a thrift shop, so they can't be angry with the ripped gray shirt, black skinny jeans, and old short-sleeved jean jacket she's wearing. There's a half-finished cigarette between her fingers and the carton it came from is sticking out of her pocket, so they can't be thinking that she showed up empty-handed. So what's going on? "Excuse me?" she asks, forcing the concern out of her voice.

"Don't play dumb with me, Fabray. We heard you took a slushy for that wheelchair loser yesterday."

Quinn blinks. She's never had to defend the fact that she defended someone before. "Look, it's not like that," she mutters, trying to think on her feet as she takes a quick drag from her cigarette.

The Mack steps forward until she's right in front of Quinn. "Then what's it _like_?" Her eyes are hard, full of authority. "You're a Skank, Quinn, and Skanks don't do charity work. We don't save the day. We keep the losers in their rightful place, and we do it by any means necessary. Got it?" Her face is so close to Quinn's by the end of her speech that a chill goes down her spine. This is way too similar to her conversation with the jock.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I never told him not to slushy Artie." She turns away and inhales from her cigarette again, then carelessly blows the smoke away. When she faces the girls, all eyes are still on her.

"So the cripple's name is Artie, huh?" Sheila says almost accusingly. "Are you guys best buds or something?"

"He's not—we did glee club…" Quinn gives up and groans in exasperation. "Seriously, what do I have to do to get you guys to trust me?"

The Skanks exchange glances with each other one by one and after a few moments, seem to silently agree on something.

The Mack looks her straight in the eye. "Rachel Berry."

Quinn swallows. "What about her?"

"Swirly her."

She's gotten so good at not showing the wrong emotions around the Skanks, at appearing fearless and in control, but this time she falters. "W-what?"

"You heard me," The Mack says, smirking at the look on Quinn's face. "We want you to swirly her. By the end of school today."

She drops her cigarette and grinds it into the ground with the bottom of her shoe. "Why Berry?" she asks, studying the remnants of burnt paper and ash on the pavement. "Why not some random freshman who would piss their pants if I got them alone? She's too used to it. It doesn't affect her anymore."

"If it doesn't bother her, then what's the problem?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "It's a waste of time," she growls, and immediately regrets it when she sees the fiery look in the other girl's eyes.

"What was that?" The Mack asks in a way that dares her to answer. Quinn stays silent. "That's what I thought. Don't think that you can walk all over us, Quinn. We were there for you all summer while you dealt with your crap. We were your only friends then and we still are. Nothing's changed."

The mention of her "crap" stings. "I know," she mutters.

"You told us everything and we kept your secrets for you, but we can just as easily tell the whole school. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Quinn clenches her jaw before answering. "No."

The Mack nods. "Then do this for us." She sees the hesitation lingering in Quinn's eyes. "Berry's not your friend, Quinn. She ignored you all summer, and the only reason she's talking to you now is because we're at school and she doesn't have to go out of her way."

Something clenches in Quinn's chest but she keeps her expression neutral. "How did you know she talked to me?"

This time Sheila speaks. "I saw you guys on the bleachers the other day." Her eyes narrow. "What was that all about, anyway?"

She lights another cigarette for the sake of having something to do with her hands. "Nothing."

None of them look satisfied with that answer, but they don't press her further.

"So do we have a deal?" The Mack asks her, and the expectant look in her eyes tells her there's only one right answer.

Quinn looks down at the ground, takes a drag from her cigarette, and lets it out slowly. "I'll do it." Her voice is low, gravelly, emotionless.

The Skanks all grin at her and exchange mischievous, excited glances before resuming their usual conversation. Quinn heads back inside the building, glares at Mrs. Marks when the woman gives her a disapproving once-over, and reluctantly slumps into her seat in the Biology classroom.

She's so fucking tired of fighting for approval.

* * *

><p>By last period, Quinn is all but trembling at her desk. She's spent the day avoiding Rachel as best she can, because she knows she won't be able to look her in the eye without feeling like the most horrible human being on the planet. Not when she knows what she has to do.<p>

She passes her in the hallway a few times, and when those brown eyes snap to her like magnets, she mentally curses herself for dying her hair bright pink, of all colors. She wonders briefly if Rachel looks for her around school. She hates that idea.

The final bell snaps her from her thoughts and she joins the pack of students heading out into the hallway. She spots Rachel almost immediately and follows her for a bit, silently begging her to avoid the bathrooms and just go to her locker and _get out of here_.

But of course she ducks into the first girls' room she comes to, and Quinn wants so badly to just walk away, to blow right past the door and forget about this whole thing and beg the Skanks to let her do something else, anything else. Her body's autopilot is having none of that, however, and before she has time to think this through any further her hand is pushing open the door and suddenly she's in the bathroom with Rachel.

The other girl is studying herself in the mirror, a makeup kit propped open on the side of the sink, and when she sees Quinn's reflection, she smiles pleasantly. "Hello, Quinn!"

Her heart is hammering inside her chest. She has no idea how to do this; usually she steals the person's lunch money while the other girls do the dirty work. But there's another layer, and she knows it.

She has no idea how to do this to Rachel Berry.

The Rachel notices Quinn staring at her and her eyebrows pull together the slightest bit. "Is something wrong? You look worried."

The Skanks are going to kill her. "I need you to splash water on your face and get your hair wet." She doesn't know how she makes her voice sound so calm.

Rachel looks confused but continues working on her makeup. "Why?"

"I don't have time to explain. Please, just do it." She's trying to keep her tone as flat and monotonous as possible but it's starting to waver.

"I'm sorry, but I can't," she replies, leaning closer to the mirror. "Auditions for _West Side Story_ start in twenty minutes and I need to look my best. Not to suggest that I need good looks in order to be cast in a leading role, because on the contrary, I'm quite confident that my talent is more than enough. But nevertheless, it can't hurt to look pretty while I'm onstage." She smiles brightly.

Quinn has stopped breathing. Now she understands why they wanted her to Swirly Rachel, and why they wanted her to do it today. She glances toward the door, her warring between getting the hell out of here or getting Rachel the hell out of here. "Rachel, you need to—"

The door swings open and the room is filled with the stench of cigarettes. Rachel drops her mascara brush as she takes in the sight of the Skanks all looking directly at her.

Quinn's eyes are on the group of clearly agitated girls.

Sheila is the first to speak. "What's the hold-up, Quinn? We ain't hearing no flushing."

"We had a deal," The Mack continues, eyeing Rachel. Quinn does the same and sees a second flicker of confusion cross Rachel's features, and though her eyes are questioning, she doesn't ask for an explanation.

"H-hello, Skanks," Rachel says quietly. She starts to pack up her makeup supplies. "I'll leave you all alone, I don't want to intrude."

One of them takes a step to the side so she's blocking the door. Rachel freezes and looks to Quinn. Caution is written all over her face.

"What's going on, Quinn?"

She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

"I'll tell you what's going on," The Mack says, approaching Rachel as she speaks, "Quinn doesn't have the balls to stick your ugly face where it belongs." By the end of her sentence she has her backed up against the tiled wall. She gives the shorter girl a split second to glance nervously at Quinn before she grabs her arm and begins pulling her toward one of the stalls.

"Let go of me!" Rachel shrieks as she struggles against her grip, and The Mack looks to the rest of the girls for support.

"Sheila! Help me out over here."

Sheila takes her other arm and together they drag her to their target destination. Quinn is frozen in place as they force Rachel to her knees and push her down and then her yelps of protest are cut off and all that's left are watery gurgling noises.

Quinn flinches when the toilet flushes.

The two Skanks come out of the stall and face her with matching, satisfied smirks.

"Next time you don't follow orders, you're out," The Mack growls, her smile darkening. "And then we'll have no reason to keep certain…_information_…to ourselves. Got it?" Without waiting for Quinn to answer, she turns, gestures for the group to leave, and follows them out the door.

And then it's just Quinn and Rachel again.

She takes a hesitant step toward the open stall door, where she can see the girl slowly rising to her feet. "Rachel?" She calls out the girl's name so quietly, she's not sure if Rachel even heard her.

If she did, she gives no indication. She pulls an arm's length of toilet paper from the roll beside her then wads it all together and begins to dry off her face. "Next time, _you_ do it."

Quinn is completely lost. "What?"

Rachel still won't turn to face her. "Next time, _you_ stick my face in the toilet. Because I honestly think that would have hurt less than you standing there and watching while _they_ did it." Her voice is tight, controlled, and full of disappointment. She finally turns around and avoids Quinn's eyes as she hurls the wad of toilet paper into the trash can, grabs her makeup kit, and hurries out the door.

* * *

><p>That night, Quinn sits backstage in the auditorium for two hours. Rachel doesn't come.<p> 


	5. Fight, Surrender

**First: I'm sorry this took so long to post. It's partially because I couldn't figure out how to begin the chapter and I literally wrote two or three different versions before deciding on this one. But a huge reason is because I have a ton of homework as well as classes and a job so I haven't had much time to just sit down and write, as much as I'd like to. Please bear with me.**

**Second: I put the song lyrics in bold _and_ italics this time because there's flashback stuff that's also in italics and I didn't want to confuse you guys.**

**Third: Thank you so much to all the people who have been reviewing all the chapters, and to the people who review at all. Your feedback has helped me greatly and I'm so happy that I seem to be pleasing most of you so far.**

**Fourth: I made this chapter extra long to make up for the delay. Although it also kind of just didn't want to end.**

* * *

><p>Quinn can't remember ever being in a fouler mood. She barely slept last night because her brain wouldn't shut off and instead decided to plague her with Rachel's voice, hurt and disappointed and so un-Rachel-like, repeating her final words from the bathroom until Quinn had to blast music from her earphones to tune her out. She finally dozed off around four a.m. only to be awoken by her alarm at six-thirty. Quinn Fabray doesn't function well off of two and a half hours of sleep.<p>

So now she's sitting at a table in the cafeteria, paying no attention to the rest of the Skanks because even though she's basically half-conscious right now, all she can think about is the brown eyes that have been avoiding her all day. She's very aware that she herself has been doing the same thing since school started, but that was different; she was ignoring everyone. Rachel's only ignoring her.

Halfway through lunch she finally folds her arms along the table and rests her head on top of them, letting her eyelids droop closed like they've been wanting to do all day. Her mind begins wandering free; a song is stuck in her head and she goes through the verses and choruses, and by the time she gets to the bridge she realizes it's in Rachel's voice and she's not quite sure when that happened.

She doesn't really mind it, though.

Quinn sinks into another song and focuses solely on her imagination's version of Rachel's voice, though it doesn't compare to the real thing—_nothing_ compares to the real thing. Although now that she thinks about it, what she's hearing now sounds pretty realistic. Except the voice is speaking instead of singing, and it sounds agitated.

Wait a second.

She raises her head off the table, blinks the sleep out of her eyes until she can see properly, and then looks around the room for the source of the Rachel voice she's not imagining. She finds her on her way out of the cafeteria with The Mack on her heels.

Before she can even think, Quinn is out of her seat and following the two of them out into the hallway. She hears the rest of the Skanks calling her name but all she cares about is what's happening in front of her.

"Come on, Berry. You gotta have something."

"I assure you, I have no lunch money. I bring my own food due to the very limited selection of vegan-friendly options available in the cafeteria."

"I don't care. Empty your pockets." The Mack reaches for Rachel's arm and spins her around.

"Hey!" This time the word explodes from Quinn's throat, entirely on purpose.

The Mack glances her way and rolls her eyes. "What do you want, Quinn? I'm busy here."

Quinn can feel Rachel looking at her but she maintains eye contact with The Mack. "Leave her alone."

The girl scoffs. "Go back to your nap. You're a lot less annoying when you're asleep."

Her jaw clenches. "Leave her alone," she repeats.

The Mack smirks. "Or what?" Quinn hesitates and her grin widens. "How about you leave me and the wannabe here in peace so I can finish my business?" The second she turns back to Rachel, Quinn grabs a fistful of the Skank's shirt and pulls hard. The Mack's jaw drops in indignation and her eyes are fiery. "What's your _problem_?" She shoves Quinn on the last word and she stumbles back a few steps but remains steadfast.

"Why are you so awful to her?" Quinn asks, knowing this is pointless and stupid and hypocritical, but she can't stop the words that are coming out. "She's done absolutely _nothing_ to you," she continues, pushing The Mack back and away from Rachel. "Torture someone who deserves it."

The Mack is seething and looks about ready to tear her throat out. Quinn keeps their eyes locked, steeling herself for whatever the Skank might do next; she's ready for more shoving, more yelling, anything to keep The Mack's attention off of Rachel.

She's not ready for a fist connecting with her mouth.

It happens so fast that she doesn't have time to dodge the blow. Her head jerks back and she hears Rachel cry out to her, but she's distracted by the pain flaring in her bottom lip and the blood she can taste on her tongue. Without giving herself time to over-think things, she lunges at The Mack until she has her backed up against the wall. The girl practically snarls as she grabs Quinn's wrists and squeezes tightly enough to make her grimace before roughly swinging her around until they've reversed positions.

They struggle for a moment before Quinn finally gets her arms back and pushes the Skank backward with all her strength, and from there it's all a blur of grabbing and shoving and grunting. Quinn is about to give The Mack a black eye when a hand wraps around her upper arm and yanks her away at the same time that Mr. Schuester appears behind the other girl and holds her arms back.

"Skank One and Skank Two, let's take a walk down to Figgins's office."

A shiver goes down Quinn's spine at Coach Sylvester's voice so close to her ear. Mr. Schue nods to Sue and they begin to drag the girls down the hallway.

"Wait! Mr. Schuester, Coach Sylvester, it wasn't Quinn's fault!"

Rachel's voice rings out clear as a bell and Quinn almost trips over her own feet.

"This isn't your concern, Rachel," Mr. Schue says in that nagging way of his and Quinn can't stop herself from glaring at him.

"Yes, it is! She was only trying to defend—"

"That's enough!" he interrupts. "If we need your input, we'll ask for it."

Rachel falls silent and Quinn kind of wishes she could turn around and see what her facial expression looks like, but soon she's being thrust through the doorway of Principal Figgins's office. He looks up from his desk and his eyes widen at the sight of the slightly disheveled girls in front of him.

"Sue... Schue...?" he begins hesitantly.

Coach Sylvester steps forward. "We caught these two posterchildren for teenage rebellion having a little skirmish outside the cafeteria."

"I see. Do either of you have anything to say for yourselves?" He pauses and looks to Quinn. "Miss Fabray?"

Quinn licks her lips out of habit and winces when her tongue slides over her cut.

"No?" Principal Figgins glances at The Mack. "And you, Miss...?" He trails off as she narrows her eyes at him. "In that case, if you girls would kindly take a seat outside, I will call your parents and have them come pick you up. I will decide on disciplinary actions this evening and notify you of your punishments on Monday."

Figgins picks up the phone to make the calls and Quinn follows The Mack out the door, but she stops in her tracks when she passes the threshold.

Rachel is sitting in a chair outside the office.

She perks up as soon as she sees Quinn, who finds a seat as far away from her as possible. She doesn't want Rachel asking her why she did what she did or why she cared enough to do it, even though she doesn't care, because she hates Rachel. She stares straight ahead at the floor, not moving and not speaking, because she knows she'll just do something idiotic again.

She almost flinches when Rachel moves to the chair next to hers and the scent of her perfume drifts into Quinn's nose. She waits for a speech, or a rant, or for Rachel to say anything at all, but she just sits there and Quinn can feel those brown eyes pointed directly at her.

When she can't stand it anymore, she turns her head and allows her own hazel ones to meet them. Rachel still says nothing and her gaze briefly dips to Quinn's mouth, and under the still-throbbing pain of her injured lip, she feels something else that she doesn't like at all.

Rachel extends her arm toward Quinn and it takes her a moment to realize the girl is handing her an ice pack. She takes it after a moment's hesitation and presses it to her lip.

"Thanks," she mumbles around the semi-frozen plastic and returns to staring at the floor.

"Thank _you_," Rachel whispers.

* * *

><p>The Mack's father arrives first. He's small and looks tired, like he's had to do this a billion times before and he's sick of the routine. He goes into the office to talk to Figgins and comes out after less than a minute, gesturing wordlessly for his daughter to follow him as he leaves.<p>

Rachel is still there next to Quinn, neither of them speaking, Quinn still holding the ice pack against her mouth. She doesn't understand why the girl is here with her instead of arranging music or practicing in the choir room or something.

"How did your audition go?" Quinn finds herself asking. The silence is driving her crazy.

Rachel doesn't miss a beat. "It went well. Miss Pillsbury let me reschedule my audition to this morning, which actually worked to my benefit because I have the tendency to be more perky and energetic when I first get to school. I think the circumstances allowed for a particularly enthusiastic performance."

"What song did you sing?"

"'I Feel Pretty.'"

Her three words hang in the air.

The sound of clicking heels echoes down the hallway and Quinn's mom appears from around the corner, looking a lot more frantic than Quinn thinks is necessary. Instead of heading in to talk to Principal Figgins she rushes right over to Quinn.

"Quinnie! Honey, what happened?" she gasps, ignoring Rachel's presence completely as she lifts Quinn's chin with her fingers. She studies her face for a moment before glancing around, almost like she's paranoid. "Who hit you? Did somebody find out?" Her voice drops to a whisper. "You didn't... you didn't _tell_ anybody, did you?"

Quinn's eyes widen and she slaps her mother's hand away. "What are you _talking _about? This has _nothing_ to do with that!" Her mother recoils enough to allow Quinn to leap out of her chair and bolt down the hallway.

"Quinn? Where are you going?"

"Don't bother waiting for me," she snaps without looking back. She passes her locker and her next class and a few bathrooms before she realizes she has no idea where she's going, but as long as it's in the opposite direction of her mom, she really doesn't care. Her insides are seething and she just needs to punch something or scream until her mom's ears bleed or...

She pushes a door open and takes several more strides before she comprehends that she's in the auditorium. Her legs have a mind of their own as they carry her down the center aisle and up on to the stage and over to the piano. As she takes a seat on the bench, the song is already swimming through her head and her fingers are itching to play.

Quinn flies through the intro melody; she played this song a million times over the summer on the piano in their living room, whenever her mom wasn't around. She's never sung it before, because for some reason she just can't sing in her house, but this time the words pour out automatically.

**_Seems like just yesterday  
><em>****_You were a part of me  
><em>****_I used to stand so tall  
><em>****_I used to be so strong  
><em>****_Your arms around me tight  
><em>****_Everything felt so right  
><em>****_Unbreakable, like nothing could go wrong_**

_"Things will be different now, Quinnie. Nothing is going to come between us again, I promise."_

**_Now I can't breath  
><em>****_No, I can't sleep  
><em>****_I'm barely hanging on_******

She's never played it this loudly, either.

**_Here I am, once again  
><em>****_I'm torn into pieces  
><em>****_Can't deny it, can't pretend  
><em>****_Just thought you were the one  
><em>****_Broken up, deep inside  
><em>****_But you won't get to see the tears I cry  
><em>****_Behind these hazel eyes_******

Her hands are shaking but she doesn't stop. She doesn't think she could if she wanted to.

**_I told you everything  
><em>****_Opened up and let you in  
><em>****_You made me feel all right  
><em>****_For once in my life_******

_"Mom. I have to tell you something." She's never been so scared in her life. Even telling her father she was pregnant doesn't compare to this._

_"What is it, Quinnie? What's wrong?"_

_Her eyes are swimming with tears as it passes through her lips. Her mother blinks a few times but otherwise her expression is completely neutral._

_"Does anybody else know?"_

_Quinn shakes her head quickly._

_There's a long moment of silence between them as her mother turns back to the cooking magazine she's reading. "What would you like for dinner?"_

_Her eyebrows rise. "Did you hear what I just said?" Her voice is a thick whisper._

_"I heard you, yes."_

_She waits a beat. "You're not mad?"_

_Her mother's eyes remain on the article she's reading. "Quinn, I already lost you once. I don't want to lose you again." She turns the page and finally meets her gaze. "But... I would like to keep this a private matter," she finishes gently, cautiously._

_Quinn nods. "I won't tell anyone."_

_Her mother offers her a smile. "Do pork chops sound good to you?"_

**_Now all that's left of me  
><em>****_Is what I pretend to be  
><em>****_So together but so broken up inside_******

_There's a knock on her bedroom door. "Come in," she calls._

_Her mother enters, an unreadable expression plastered on her face. "Hi, sweetie."_

_Quinn frowns. "Mom? What's wrong?"_

_"Everything's fine," she answers, but something in her voice isn't right and she won't look her in the eye. "I just got off the phone with your father," she says slowly. "I told him... what you told me."_

_A wave of dread washes over her. "Why would you do that?"_

_"I—I thought he had the right to know, Quinn. He's still your father. Anyway, I told him, and... we think you should see a professional."_

_"You mean like... a _therapist_?" She sounds breathless; her lungs aren't working properly. "Mom, I thought you said you were okay with this!"_

_She opens and closes her mouth a few times before anything comes out. "I... he's going to give us some money and the number of somebody he knows..."_

_Quinn can't find her voice anymore._

_Her mother smiles, but this time it's fragile. "You're just going through a phase, Quinnie. Everything will be okay." She turns and leaves, closing the door behind her._

_Her breathing is erratic as tears spill down her cheeks. She leans against her desk, holds her head in her hands, and sobs._

**_Swallow me and spit me out  
><em>****_For hating you, I blame myself  
><em>****_Seeing you, it kills me now  
><em>****_No, I don't cry on the outside anymore_******

Her voice soars and she's pretty sure she's never hit that note before.

**_Here I am, once again  
><em>****_I'm torn into pieces  
><em>****_Can't deny it, can't pretend  
><em>****_Just thought you were the one  
><em>****_Broken up, deep inside  
><em>****_But you won't get to see the tears I cry  
><em>****_Behind these hazel eyes_**

She manages to finish the chorus before she curls in on herself and explodes. The sounds coming from her throat aren't hushed or restrained this time and they drown out the lingering echoes of the final chord. In fact, the entire song drowned out the door opening and footsteps approaching the stage, and she doesn't realize Rachel is on the bench with her until she feels a gentle hand rubbing slow circles on her back.

As if it's the most natural thing in the world, she leans against her, letting her head rest in the crook of Rachel's neck, and the girl tightens her arm around Quinn.

"Shhhh," Rachel whispers into her ear. Her free hand covers one of Quinn's and she gently strokes the back of her palm with her thumb.

Quinn's eyes close as she cries out all of the anger, all of the frustration, all of the _everything_ that's been lodged inside of her all this time with nowhere to go. A few times she feels Rachel kiss her hair, and that makes her cry even harder. She's never been held like this, touched like this... treated like this.

"Rachel," she chokes out.

"I'm right here, Quinn," she says softly.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Rachel, I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

She feels Rachel shrug. "Well, I forgive you," she murmurs, "for everything."

Quinn sighs tiredly. "You shouldn't."

"I know."

There's a pause. "Rachel?" she whispers.

"Yes?"

"Why do you always forgive me?"

"You're not a bad person. You just make mistakes sometimes. Everyone makes mistakes." Rachel rubbing her hand back and forth below Quinn's shoulder blades. "Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"That song you sang was incredible. I've never heard you sing with that much emotion before."

Quinn doesn't know what to say to that.

"Have... have you considered coming back to Glee?"

She straightens so she's not leaning against Rachel anymore, though the girl's hand stays on her back. "I told you, I'm never coming back."

"Why not?"

There are so many reasons, and yet Quinn can't tell her a single one.

The school bell rings faintly but neither girl makes a move to get up. "You have class," Quinn mutters.

"You do too." When Quinn doesn't respond, Rachel rises and takes her hand, pulling her off the bench, down from the stage, and out of the auditorium. Quinn knows she could pull free if she wanted, but she doesn't. She kind of likes having someone else in charge.

"Where are we going?" she finally asks when Rachel leads her out the side door and toward the parking lot.

"My house."


	6. Truths

They don't talk much in the car. Quinn stares out the window for most of the ride and Rachel seems to respect that it's not time yet. She puts in the _RENT_ soundtrack and Quinn hears her murmuring the lyrics word-for-word, making the corner of her mouth curl up just a little. They pull into her driveway toward the end of "La Vie Bohem" but Rachel doesn't turn off the car until the song is over.

She leads her into the house and as they stop to take their shoes off, Quinn marvels at the dozens of framed photographs lining the walls. They all show Rachel with one or both of her dads, her expression carefree and blissfully happy, smiling because with them there's no judgment or scrutiny—just unwavering, unconditional love.

Quinn has never seen her smile like that.

She follows Rachel to the kitchen where her attention is drawn to the fridge. It's covered in a collage of notes and lists and pictures, all held against the metal by gold star magnets.

"How is your mouth feeling?" Rachel asks, and Quinn is suddenly aware that the girl is standing right in front of her, only inches away, and staring right at her lips.

"It's fine," she mumbles, but then Rachel cups her chin with a warm, gentle hand.

"It doesn't look too bad," she says, slowly brushing her fingertip along Quinn's bottom lip, and her eyes almost flutter shut at the sensation. "You should ice it some more." She backs off and gets a Ziploc bag out of a drawer, fills it with crushed ice, and wraps it in a thin dishcloth. Quinn takes it and Rachel studies her as she presses it to her mouth, searching her face for any indication that she's in more pain than she's letting on. Finally, satisfied, she smiles. "Let's go upstairs."

As they ascend to the second floor Quinn can feel her heart pounding. She never thought she'd ever find herself in the Berry house, climbing the Berrys' stairs, going up to _Rachel_ Berry's bedroom.

Rachel stops in front of a door that's bare except for a star-shaped piece of yellow construction paper with her name scrawled in neat cursive. "I apologize if it's somewhat untidy in here," she says as she turns the knob and pushes, "I've been rather busy this week and haven't had a chance to clean." They both step into the room and Quinn cocks an eyebrow; the bed is unmade, there's a sweatshirt draped over the desk chair, and there's some makeup scattered on her dresser, but other than that, it's spotless.

"I think I can handle it," she murmurs as she looks around. The walls are a bold yellow that envelops the room in an energy that perfectly matches Rachel, and the brightly-colored accents and piano rug further prove that this is indeed where she sleeps at night.

Quinn stands by the desk holding the ice to her lip as Rachel scurries across the room and fiddles with her iPod, and soon soft music begins pouring from the speakers, a band Quinn's never heard before. She watches Rachel smooth out her comforter, straighten the pillows, and then climb onto her bed. She eyes the other end of the mattress and glances at Quinn.

"Come sit?" she asks softly.

Quinn licks her lips and obliges, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. She can't bring her eyes up to Rachel's; instead she looks at the books on the bedside table, the pattern on her bed sheets, the seconds ticking by on her alarm clock. "I like this song," she mutters against the cold dish cloth, picking at a hole in her jeans.

"Me too. I discovered this band very recently; I find their music quite relaxing."

Quinn nods slowly. "She has a pretty voice."

Rachel listens for a moment. "It kind of reminds me of yours."

"I'm not coming back to glee club." She knows Rachel probably wasn't thinking about that but she feels the need to say it anyway.

Rachel doesn't speak right away. "Why do you hang out with the Skanks?"

Even though Rachel has asked her this before, the question still takes Quinn off-guard. "They accept me for who I am," she answers mechanically.

"Quinn… from what I've observed… they don't seem to treat you very well."

"What do _you_ know?" Quinn snaps, lowering her ice pack and tossing it on to the bedside table. Her eyes find Rachel's, and to her dismay, they are full of determination.

Her tone is calm. "I know that you change yourself for them. I know that they don't respect you. I know that they make you do things you don't want to do." There's a heaviness, an edge to her final sentence, and Quinn has to look away again. "There must be a reason why you stay with them."

She hesitates. "They understand."

"What do they understand?" Rachel's voice is so delicate that she almost wants to cry again.

"They understand what…" Quinn swallows. "What I'm going through."

"What is it that you're going through?"

It would be so easy just to say it. "I—I can't—"

"You can't what?"

Her hands are shaking in her lap. Her heart is racing again. She wonders what it would be like to throw up all over Rachel's rug.

And then Rachel's hands are holding hers and her fingers curl around the warmth. It surprises her how tight her own grip is. She looks at Rachel through watery eyes and sees her eyebrows pulled together in concern.

She opens and closes her mouth a few times but she can't make her throat work. She wants desperately to look away so she can pull herself together and get out of this conversation, but she can't tear her gaze from Rachel's. She imagines a thousand different scenarios, a thousand different things that could happen if she tells her, and she doesn't like any of them. She's told the truth twice already and both times ended in disaster; why should this be any different?

"Quinn," Rachel says gently, pulling her from her thoughts. "You're safe with me." Each word is bursting at the seams with sincerity.

And now she can feel it rising in her throat, sliding down her tongue, and she's absolutely terrified because she knows she can't stop it. "Rachel," she breathes, her voice cracking. "I'm gay." The words are out and alive and so unbearably dangerous, and she holds on to the girl's hands for dear life because she won't survive another person leaving her.

Quinn waits for the hesitation, for Rachel to pull away and tell her to get out, but none of that happens. Instead, the brunette just squeezes her hand back.

"I'm a vegan," she offers, and it's so completely not what Quinn expected. She blinks once and a tear falls down her cheek as she looks at Rachel with what she's sure are very wet, bloodshot, and incredulous eyes. The girl shrugs and gives her a small smile. "What? You apparently prefer girls; I prefer foods that don't come from animals. The concepts are quite similar if you think about it."

Quinn doesn't know what to say to that. She just closes her eyes and hangs her head and lets out a deep, shaky breath because this is the third time she's had to say those words, and it hasn't gotten any easier or less exhausting.

Her heart skips a beat when Rachel cups her cheek and brushes away the trails of moisture with her thumb. "It's okay, Quinn."

"No, it's not," she says, shaking her head. Her lip starts to tremble and she hates that Rachel is seeing her like this, so pathetic and weak.

"The Skanks… they know?" Quinn peers up at her through her soggy eyelashes and watches Rachel think things through. A spark of realization flashes through her eyes. "In the bathroom the other day, one of them said something about having information… and if you didn't do what they told you to do …" Now her eyes widen. "Quinn, are they holding that over you?"

God, it sounds awful when she says it like that.

Quinn's lack of response sends Rachel into an angry rant. "The _nerve_ of those girls! You confided in them with highly sensitive information and now they're _threatening _you with it? What kind of despicable human being blackmails another person with their sexuality?"

"At least they were there for me when I needed somebody." The sentence slips out quietly, without her meaning it to, and her voice is bitter.

Rachel freezes and Quinn wonders if she's hurt or just thinking really hard. "What happened over the summer, Quinn?"

She stares at their intertwined hands, inhaling slowly and then exhaling slowly. "I told my mom."

"Was she angry?"

Quinn lets out a humorless laugh and shakes her head. "She was fine with it at first—not exactly thrilled, but she wasn't negative about it. She just kind of accepted it and we moved on." Her jaw clenches at the next batch of memories. "But then she told my dad." Rachel's thumb is moving back and forth along the back of her palm. "He decided I was just going through a phase and I'd get over it eventually." She nibbles her lip, ignoring the pain from her cut. "He said I should see a therapist until I snap out of it. And my mom just went along with it." She stops; her eyes are stinging again.

"She betrayed you," Rachel breathes. She's appalled.

"So I decided, if they wanted a rebellious phase… I'd give them one." Quinn risks a glance at Rachel and sees that she's putting things together. "I'd seen the Skanks hanging out around town before… All I had to do was change my appearance and act like I didn't give a damn, and I was in."

Rachel nods slowly but stays silent to let Quinn continue.

"It wasn't hard to get them to like me. I was angry, and they loved that. But part of being a Skank is you have to tell them something…" She trails off and swallows. "Something you hate about yourself."

The brunette's grip on her hands tightens, and when she looks up the girl's eyes are shining.

"Why didn't you talk to anybody in glee club?"

"Because I would've had to tell them _everything_." Quinn's throat is thick with tears. "I didn't want anybody to know."

"But Quinn, we supported you through your pregnancy and getting kicked out… a-and Kurt is openly gay, and everyone knows Brittany and Santana are together…" Rachel is nearing hysterics at this point. "What made you think we wouldn't be there for you as well?"

"I cheated on my boyfriend, had sex before marriage, got pregnant at seventeen, and was pretty much disowned by my parents," Quinn lists off in a rush, her voice rising. "And now this…" She exhales heavily and her shoulders sag. "It's not who I wanted to be, Rachel. Kurt and Santana and Brittany accept who they are. I don't." Her words are trembling by the time she finishes speaking.

Rachel doesn't say anything for a moment. "Quinn?" She doesn't respond. "Quinn, look at me."

Tears are already dripping down her cheeks when she finally obeys. Her hazel eyes connect with brown and it's like they're looking right through her.

"I accept you," she says firmly. "I accept _everything_."

A small sob escapes her throat, and then another, and then her lungs are shuddering and her breathing is so loud, but then she realizes she's crying. Before she even knows what's happening, she's folding in half and her upper body is resting in Rachel's lap, and she's letting go completely. She feels a hand in her hair, moving it out of her face and then stroking it gently, and another hand wiping her tears away as they fall.

People have told her she's pretty, that she's a great athlete, that she's the perfect student and girlfriend, but those things all went in one ear and out the other while she simply smiled and said thank you. These words that Rachel Berry is saying to her right now are words that she's never heard before, not from anyone else.

They're the only ones she's ever wanted to hear.

When Rachel's hand slips down from her hair to her back Quinn feels a wave of déjà-vu wash over her, and for a moment she feels guilty that she's crying into the girl's clothes _again_. It occurs to her that this is the longest she's been alone with Rachel all year, and that she's shown more emotion today than she did all summer.

She's not sure how long they sit like that; she's so tired that she barely has any concept of time at this point. But eventually her tears become fewer and far between and her breathing slows, and soon her eyelids are so heavy she can't open them.

She jerks out of her daze when Rachel shifts out from under her. "Relax, Quinn," she murmurs, "Just stay there." Her eyes snap open when Rachel gets off the bed completely, and then there's a pillow being placed beneath her head.

"No," she mumbles, starting to sit up, "I shouldn't fall asleep on your bed."

Rachel's hand lands gently on her shoulder. "You're exhausted. Just rest, okay? I don't mind."

Quinn lets Rachel ease her back down against the mattress and her eyelids droop almost immediately. Within seconds she's being covered with a soft fleece blanket. "Rachel," she begins, the word barely making it off her tongue, but by the time she takes her next breath, she's forgotten what she wanted to say. She surrenders to the heavy sleepiness clouding her brain and the last thing she's aware of is a soft kiss on her forehead.

* * *

><p>When Quinn wakes up, it's dark outside. It takes her a second to remember where she is, and when she does, everything comes rushing back to her all at once. She rolls onto her back and rubs her eyes.<p>

"Good evening, sleepyhead." Rachel's voice is playful and very, very close to her head.

She cranes her neck and sees that the brunette is sitting next to her, leaning back against propped-up pillows, scribbling in a notebook. Her gaze drifts to the black sky beyond the windows. "What time is it?"

"A little after seven-thirty."

"Oh." She sits up and sighs when she feels how tired she still is. "It's late, I should go." At home with her mom is the last place she wants to be right now, but she doesn't really see any other option. She's about to push herself off the bed when she feels a warm hand on hers.

"Quinn… i-if you wanted, you know, if you don't feel like being around your mom right now…" Her tone is nervous and unsure. "You could stay the night."

It's a surprisingly easy decision. "Okay."

Rachel smiles. "I'll go order some pizza," she announces, getting off the bed and heading for the door.

"Rachel?"

She turns back with eager eyes. "Yes?"

Quinn glances down at the clothes she's wearing—darkly colored, grungy, none of it fitting quite right. "Could I borrow some pajamas?"

"Of course!" Rachel begins milling around the room, opening her closet and several drawers. "There are sweatpants in here, t-shirts in here, and I have a few sweatshirts if you're cold. Take whatever you need," she finishes warmly and then disappears into the hallway.

Quinn goes over to the dresser and sifts through the various bottoms before pulling out a pair of red Capri-length sweatpants. She closes the drawer and moves on to the one above it, quickly finding a gray short-sleeved v-neck. She takes them both down the hallway to the bathroom and she can hear Rachel on the phone downstairs.

"…an order for delivery. I'd like one small bacon pizza and one small vegan pizza." Pause. "Yes, that's all. And can you make that extra bacon? Thank you!"

Quinn smiles as she closes the door behind her. She sets the clothes on the counter and begins shedding her Skank-wear; the dark fabrics contrast sharply with the white rug and pale blue tile. She steps into the pants and pulls the shirt over her head, relishing in the comfort that only comes from soft, worn clothes. She gathers her original outfit and glances casually into the mirror as she reaches for the doorknob, but her reflection stops her. Even with the pink hair, wearing normal clothes makes her look almost… like herself. Whoever "she" is.

She goes back to Rachel's room and lays her clothes on the desk chair before heading downstairs. She finds her in the living room studying a large shelf of DVDs.

"Extra bacon, huh?"

Rachel whips around and Quinn doesn't miss the quick dip of her eyes as she takes in her change of clothes. "Yeah," she replies, blushing a little. "I know you love bacon… I figured I might as well go all-out."

"Thank you," she says shyly. She can feel herself slipping out of her Skank persona like a snake shedding its skin.

Rachel just smiles. "Want to come pick out a movie?"

Quinn smirks a little. "I don't know, am I allowed to choose one that's not a musical?"

"I'll have you know that I happen to own a very wide range of movies from various genres and time periods—"

"Rachel. I'm kidding."

She blushes again. "Sorry. I'm just used to people assuming my tastes lie solely with singing."

Quinn shrugs. "Don't worry about it." Her eyes drift to the shelves and almost immediately her gaze locks on to a DVD case. "This one," she says, and she pulls out _Chicago_ and hands it to Rachel.

"Quinn, we don't have to watch a musical. Pick whatever movie you want."

She pushes it toward Rachel again. "I want this one."

A small smile finds its way onto her face and she crouches down to put the disk in. Quinn takes a seat on the couch as Rachel sets up the movie, and two minutes later they are sitting side-by-side and the intro to "All That Jazz" is playing. Their pizza arrives soon after and they eat it while they watch, then set the empty boxes on the coffee table when they're finished.

Midway through the movie Quinn leans over and curls up against the arm of the couch. She doesn't notice when her eyes drift closed or when she stops hearing what's going on, and it feels like barely a few minutes have passed when she feels a gentle pressure on her calves.

"Quinn? Are you awake?"

She opens her eyes and looks around; her legs are draped over Rachel's lap and the girl's arms are resting on them. She doesn't remember when that happened. She sits up and stifles a yawn. "Is the movie over? Sorry I keep falling asleep on you."

Rachel lets out a small giggle. "I think it's bed time." She lifts her arms to let Quinn swing her legs over the side of the couch and she follows Rachel upstairs for the second time that day. "Do you want to share my bed, or would you prefer a sleeping bag?" Rachel asks over her shoulder.

For the briefest instant she imagines being in the same bed as Rachel, sharing her body heat, smelling her scent on the pillows, being _so close_ to her. "Sleeping bag's good," she blurts.

Rachel grabs her one from the hallway closet and when they reach her room she spreads it out on the floor directly next to her bed. Quinn sits cross-legged on top of it and picks at a loose thread while the other girl rummages through her bureau for pajamas. She departs to the bathroom and returns wearing a purple shirt and top, both covered in various cartoon owls.

Rachel turns out the lights and they both crawl under their respective covers. There's a heavy silence as they settle in; each of them knows the other wants to say something. Quinn stares up at the dark ceiling, listening to Rachel breathing a few feet away.

"Thank you for coming over today," the other girl says after a while. "And for talking to me." She pauses. "It must have been really hard for you to keep all of that inside for so long."

There are a million things Quinn wants to say to her but only one slips out. "Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

Her question is a whisper. "Why didn't you try to talk to me over the summer?"

There's a silence before she answers in a very small voice. "I didn't think…" Pause. "I didn't think you'd want me to. I waited to see if you would maybe reach out, o-or something. But you didn't. So I assumed…" She stops there and her tone is laced with regret.

Quinn wishes she didn't ask. "Rach?"

"Yeah?"

She needs to change the subject, push it all away. "Sing me something."

Rachel shifts on her bed. "What do you want me to sing?" she asks, and her voice is closer now. Quinn glances in her direction and through the blackness she can see the girl is on her stomach now, facing her, arms folded along the edge of the mattress and her chin resting on them.

"Anything."

Rachel thinks it over, and then she begins.

_Days feel hard-earned  
><em>_Night grows longer  
><em>_Summer says its goodbyes  
><em>_Darkness covers  
><em>_We find shelter  
><em>_Our own place to hide_

Her voice is softer, quieter than Quinn's ever heard it before. It sends goosebumps up her arms.

_Oh, as the light goes out  
><em>_Thoughts turn to angels over us  
><em>_Oh, as the night comes in  
><em>_Dreams start their drifting  
><em>_And you hear a lullaby  
><em>_A lullaby  
><em>_You and I_

Quinn rolls over onto her side and closes her eyes as she listens to the words, but she can already feel herself going under.

_Trees touch windows  
><em>_Say their hellos  
><em>_We hear this house as it settles in  
><em>_Worry slips away  
><em>_It don't know your name  
><em>_It don't know where to find us_

Her breathing slows, her mind drifts, and she's calmer than she's been in months.

_Oh, as the light goes out  
><em>_Thoughts turn to angels all around us  
><em>_Oh, as the night comes in  
><em>_Dreams start their drifting  
><em>_And we hear a lullaby  
><em>_A lullaby  
><em>_You and I  
><em>_You and I_

By the time Rachel finishes and whispers "Goodnight," she's long gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Songs used:<strong>

**"Lullaby" by OneRepublic**


	7. Innocence Part 1

Quinn is awoken by the gentle rumbling of a shower down the hallway. She rolls over and inhales deeply against the pillow; the scent that fills her nose isn't hers, and yet it's familiar and comforting. Her eyes snap open and she takes in the light beaming through the curtains, the flowery bedspread, the autographed Broadway posters on the walls, and she finally remembers where she is.

She rakes her fingers through her hair to get it out of her face and rubs her eyes a bit. When her vision refocuses she sits up and glances at the clock behind her, which tells her it's just after nine-thirty. Quinn considers going back to sleep but something across the room catches her eye. She crawls over to the small bookshelf a few yards away and tilts her head to read the handwritten label on the thick plastic spine: _Rachel Barbra Berry, years 1-16_. She pulls it out and adjusts herself so she's sitting cross-legged, then lays the book in her lap and opens the front cover.

The first page is covered in stickers—gold stars, microphones, trophies, musical notes, and smiley faces—all arranged in the shape of a giant star. She begins flipping through the book; each page has a big title at the top, starting with "Age 1," and is covered with a collage of photographs, ticket stubs, and other mementos. Quinn gazes in wonder as Rachel grows up before her, from a tiny bundle wrapped in star pajamas, to a tutu-clad toddler, and when the pleated skirts and argyle knee-socks slowly appear, she can't help but smile.

"My dads made that for my sweet sixteen."

Quinn nearly has a heart attack at the sound of Rachel's voice and slams the book shut. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"

Rachel shrugs, smiling a little. "It's okay. I don't mind." Her damp hair falls around her royal blue sweater and Quinn can smell her shampoo from here. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I just wanted to be quiet in case you were still sleeping."

"Thanks," Quinn says after a beat and puts the album back on the shelf where she found it. She gets to her feet and tries to tame her bed-head a bit more because for some reason she doesn't like the idea of looking gross when Rachel's around.

Rachel seems to notice Quinn's self-consciousness and chuckles softly. "Your hair looks fine, by the way." Her gaze lingers just a moment longer. "Actually, that style is quite—" She stops abruptly, as if she was about to say something she isn't supposed to. Clearing her throat, she quickly kneels down and begins folding up the sleeping bag. "Are you hungry? I could make pancakes, o-or waffles… vegan, of course… unless you would prefer cereal, in which case we have both soy milk and regular milk."

The corner of Quinn's mouth lifts at Rachel's eagerness to please. "Cereal's good."

They head down to the kitchen and Quinn takes a seat at the counter as Rachel rummages through the cupboards and produces a few boxes of cereal. Quinn eyes the healthy brands warily, because her mom buys the same ones but she thinks they taste like cardboard. She perks up when Rachel pulls out a box of Cocoa Puffs.

Rachel doesn't miss her reaction, and she rolls her eyes just a little. "Those are Daddy's favorite."

"He has good taste."

"More like an addiction to all things chocolate," she replies, getting out two bowls, two spoons, and two different jugs of milk.

Quinn opens the Cocoa Puffs and pours them into her bowl. "Sounds like my kind of guy."

Rachel giggles. "Actually, you two would probably get along really well."

Quinn isn't quite sure what to say to that so she pours milk over her cereal and takes a big bite. Rachel makes herself a bowl of Special K with soy milk but leaves her spoon on the counter and heads for the doorway.

"I'll be back in a moment," she says over her shoulder before disappearing up the stairs, leaving Quinn alone with her cereal.

She takes another bite and lets her mind wander. She wonders if her mom is worried about her, seeing as how she never came home last night and she hasn't checked her cell phone since they left school yesterday, but she doubts it; her mom hardly batted an eyelash during the summer when she stayed out with the Skanks until two in the morning. The only thing Judy Fabray cared about over those three months was that Quinn's secret stayed secret.

Not that Quinn is dying to tell people about it. Her mom is apparently under the impression that she wants to stop people in the streets to make sure they know, that she's going to climb to the roof of the high school and scream it for the world to hear. Does she not understand that she's _terrified_ of people finding out?

Rachel returns to the kitchen and Quinn all but chokes on her mouthful of cereal. Rachel's hair is dry now, and her silky locks twisted into graceful waves, one side pinned back with a silver clasp.

"How do I look?" she asks shyly.

Quinn doesn't answer; her brain can't come up with any adjectives that would adequately sum up the sight before her.

Rachel tucks a few strands behind her ear. "I have a date with Finn tonight and I thought… maybe I could get your opinion."

Quinn swallows carefully and tries to ignore the mysterious clenching in her stomach. "You look nice." She pauses, not satisfied with her own answer. "You look _great_."

Rachel blushes. "Really?"

"Really."

Smiling, she takes a seat beside Quinn and finally digs into her bowl of cereal. They eat in silence for a bit, and when Quinn reaches her final spoonful, she finally realizes how quiet the house is.

"So, where are your dads, anyway?"

"They're on a romantic getaway for their anniversary. They won't be home until Monday."

"That's cool."

Rachel nods. "They've been together for twenty-two years now."

Quinn says nothing. She's trying to remember if she ever saw her parents look truly happy together.

The other girl must see something in her expression that allows her to connect the dots. "How are you doing?" she asks gently. "With your parents and everything."

Quinn shrugs. "They're divorced. Life goes on." She's as nonchalant as possible but her insides are heavy because Rachel is the only person who's asked her about this.

"Yes, but… surely it must have hurt. Or even still be hurting."

Sometimes Quinn just wants to ask her how she fucking knows everything. She lets out a deep sigh but Rachel misinterprets it.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn, I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to tell me anything. God, I'm so nosey… I shouldn't be asking all these personal questions." She trails off and begins picking at her cereal.

Quinn stares at the now somewhat chocolatey milk in her bowl. She thinks about these questions that nobody's asked her, and about the answers she's never given, and about how this person sitting right next to her just seems so ready to listen. Would it really be so bad to talk?

"There was always this part of me that wished my dad wasn't around," she says, and Rachel visibly snaps to attention. "I had this idea in my head that if he was gone, things would be better. Easier. My mom and I wouldn't have to be perfect for him anymore. We could just be ourselves." She stirs the milk around in the bowl for the sake of her hands having something to do. "So when he was finally out of the picture, I was so… _ready_. Ready for somebody to finally show that they cared about me, to be satisfied with me, proud of what I do. I thought my mom would finally be that person. I thought it had just been my dad suppressing her all these years."

At this point Rachel abandons her cereal and turns her chair to face Quinn.

"But it didn't make a difference. She's still as… _not there_ as she's ever been, especially after the whole—the stuff I told you last night. So the only logical conclusion I can make is that my dad either destroyed that side of her completely… or she never had it to begin with."

There's a silence as Rachel processes what she's said. Quinn chews on the inside of her cheek, not really thinking about anything in particular, but then a thought slams into her.

"I don't think I would've…" She stops and takes a deep breath because she hates this phrase; she's never even said it aloud before. "I don't think I would've come out if my dad had been there." Quinn mumbles her way through the middle of the sentence, as if it will hide those two words. "I don't even know why I told my mom. I guess I just…"

"Wanted somebody to know?"

Quinn licks her lips but says nothing.

"It's human nature," Rachel continues. "If there's something weighing down on you, it's only natural to seek out someone who will help you carry that burden." Her eyes dip to the floor before returning to meet Quinn's again. "Nobody wants to face difficult things alone. Nobody should have to."

Again, Rachel leaves her speechless.

* * *

><p>Quinn changes back into her original clothes while Rachel clears the dishes, and then she gives Quinn a ride back to the high school parking lot where her car is still waiting. When the silver Hyundai comes to a stop, Rachel turns down the <em>Wicked<em> soundtrack and neither girl moves.

"Thank you," Quinn says, her voice soft, "for everything."

Rachel nods. "You're welcome, Quinn. It's really not a problem. I'm more than happy to—" She pauses and rethinks her words. "Whatever you need."

Quinn waits a beat. "Have fun tonight." She gets out of the car before Rachel can say anything else and doesn't look back until she's driven away.

She doesn't listen to any music on the way home and her hands grip the steering wheel much harder than necessary, but she can't make her fingers relax. All she can think about is how Rachel is going to spend the entire day thinking about _Finn_ and how tonight she's going to get dressed up for _Finn_ and go out on a date with _Finn_ and it's kind of making her sick to her stomach.

When she gets home her mom is sitting at the kitchen table with an IKEA catalog and a cup of coffee.

"Quinnie," she gasps, taking off her glasses, "where have you been?"

"A friend's house."

Her mom frowns slightly. "Oh. Santana's?"

"Yeah," she mutters, even though she hasn't hung out with Santana in months, and heads upstairs.

"Next time let me know you're staying the night, okay?" her mom calls.

She slams her bedroom door in response.

* * *

><p>Quinn spends the day in her room, blasting music and reading and even doing some homework. She changes into normal jeans and a t-shirt because it's the weekend and she doesn't feel the need to keep up her Skank appearance. Her mom leaves her alone for the most part, only coming in once to ask her if there was anything she needed from the grocery store and quickly backing off when Quinn glared at her.<p>

She doesn't even know why she's so angry. There's just this _thing_ floating around in her system that makes her want to scream and yell and punch something really, really hard, like the time she got into the fight with Santana at school. Just like that, except a thousand times worse.

She's not even angry, she decides at one point, so much as annoyed. There's something _bothering_ her, something that she can't put into words, or maybe just doesn't know how to.

Her mom heats up a frozen pizza for dinner but doesn't call Quinn down to eat, which Quinn likes, because she's so consumed with being aggravated that she doesn't get hungry until after ten. She grabs the leftovers from the fridge and leans back against the counter while she eats them, listening to her mom's footsteps go back and forth down the upstairs hallway as she does laundry.

The doorbell rings.

"Quinnie, can you get that?" her mom shouts from upstairs.

She rolls her eyes and heads for the front hallway, thinking about how she isn't in the mood for another Jehovah's Witness or Girl Scout troupe, and if it's either of those, she might just have to—

But it's not. It's Rachel, and she has an overnight bag with her, and she looks like she's been crying.

"Hi," Rachel says thickly, like her throat isn't working quite right.

"Hey." She tries to sound as calm as possible, but her heart is pounding. She wants to know why Rachel is upset, and she wants to know _now_.

The girl sniffs. "I apologize for showing up unannounced and at such a late hour, but I—um…" She can't quite figure out what she wants to say. "Can I come in?" she finally asks, and her voice is small.

"Of course," she says, stepping aside to let her over the threshold. "Come on." She takes Rachel's hand because she just looks like she needs her hand held and leads her up the stairs.

"Who was that, Quinn?" her mom asks as she comes out of her room carrying a basket of clean clothes, but she stops in her tracks when she sees Rachel, and her mouth tightens into a rigid line when her eyes drop to their joined hands. "What's going on?"

"It's none of your business," Quinn snaps, pulling Rachel into her room and closing the door behind them. Her eyes glance over her unmade bed and her clothes all over the floor; under normal circumstances she would rush around and try to pick up a little, but all of her focus goes to Rachel. Her hair is pulled back into a sloppy ponytail and she's wearing a pink NYADA sweatshirt and jeans, and this might be the first time Quinn has ever seen her not in a skirt.

"Do you want to… sit down?" she asks hesitantly, because nobody's really come to her for help before and all she knows about it is what Rachel's done for her.

Rachel nods so she goes over to her bed and pushes her pillows around to give them a comfortable place to sit. Rachel sinks into the mattress and leans back against the pillows, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins. Quinn sits cross-legged, facing her.

"What happened, Rach?"

She swallows. "He picked me up. We went to a nice restaurant, ate nice food, talked about nice things… he was a complete gentleman all night. Then when he drove me home, I invited him inside, just to watch a movie or something. But when he found out that my dads weren't around, he wanted… _more_. A _lot_ more. More than I was ready to give him." She sniffs again and stares down at her knees. "I've always said that I want to wait until I'm twenty-five, o-or until I win a Tony. And I've told him that so many times, and he's always been okay with it." A tear rolls down her cheek and Quinn's heart is absolutely aching. "But this time he got angry. He actually _argued_ with me about it. He accused me of not loving him enough. I tried to make him understand that it had nothing to do with him, that I'm just not ready for that yet." Another tear falls from each eye. "And he broke up with me."

Quinn's jaw is hanging open; not out of shock, but outrage. She's always known of Finn Hudson's talent for being an absolute douchebag, but this is a new low for him. For him to think that he could just_ request_ something so important to her and not even consider her side of it was… it was just…

"Good," she says before she can stop herself, and now Rachel looks at her.

"What?" she whispers.

Quinn looks straight into her eyes. "I'm glad he broke up with you. He doesn't deserve you."

Rachel doesn't respond.

Quinn shifts so that she's sitting beside Rachel and she folds her legs into an identical position. "I really… _admire_ you… for that rule thing," she continues, her gaze fixed on Rachel even though the other girl is staring into space again. "If I had decided to wait, I wouldn't have made such a mess of my life. Saying no to somebody… even if they really want it… even if _you_ really want it… It's really brave, Rachel. You're really brave."

Rachel is silent for a moment. "Do you really mean that?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

Quinn nods. "I do."

There's another pause, longer this time.

"I think I might cry a bit more." She manages to sound matter-of-fact and broken at the same time.

"You can cry as much as you need to," Quinn replies softly. She puts her arm around Rachel at the same moment that Rachel leans against her and the simultaneous movements create this wonderful almost-hug that sends warmth surging through Quinn's body. She can feel Rachel's gentle sobs and it makes her want to hold her closer, so she leans back against the pillows until Rachel's head is resting against her chest. She adjusts her arm and begins rubbing the girl's back, mimicking the slow circles that she's felt on her own back before.

Rachel's tears are leaving splotches of moisture on her shirt, but she doesn't care. When Rachel shifts and drapes her arm over Quinn's stomach, she cares even less, because this closeness right now and this trust that Rachel has toward her is consuming her every thought.

They both lose track of time as Rachel calms down and Quinn continues rubbing her back. She feels herself falling asleep and as Rachel's breathing deepens she considers waking her up so she can set up a sleeping bag or something, but the drying tear marks on her cheeks glisten in the light from her table lamp and she decides that the girl is better off asleep for now.

She even wonders if she herself should sleep on the floor, just to give Rachel some space, but there's a part of her that won't even consider moving from this position.

Screw it, she finally thinks, and she grabs a handful of comforter and pulls it over the both of them as best she can. Rachel lets out a sleepy sigh and her arm that's wrapped around Quinn tightens just a little.

Quinn wonders if Rachel can hear how fast her heart is beating.

* * *

><p>A faint knocking sound pulls her from the depths of sleep. She doesn't open her eyes, doesn't move at all, because she doesn't think she's ever been this damn comfortable and she doesn't want to do anything to screw up this perfection.<p>

A door opens and then closes a few moments later, and she groans a little; these noises need to leave her the hell alone. She wraps herself tighter around whatever is keeping her so warm under these blankets and drifts off into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

><p><strong>That was me fixing "The First Time." You're welcome.<strong>


	8. Innocence Part 2

**Trigger warning: This chapter contains violence.**

* * *

><p>Quinn is very, very warm. This is odd, because her mom keeps the house at a frigid temperature and she usually needs every blanket from her closet to fight off the chills. Right now, though, her body is enveloped in a pocket of heavenly warmth that makes her extremely reluctant to open her eyes and face the day.<p>

It's not until she tries to roll over that she registers the arm wrapped around her stomach, the hot puffs of breath hitting her neck, and the lingering scent of strawberry shampoo drifting up her nostrils, and as she suddenly remembers everything that happened last night, she feels like she's just toppled off the top of the Cheerios pyramid.

Rachel Berry is in Quinn's bed with her.

Her throat goes dry and her pulse speeds up and now it's way too hot under these covers and if she can just move away a little bit then maybe she'll be able to breathe properly. But the moment she tries to shift, Rachel nuzzles deeper into the crook of her neck and a jolt of electricity zips through her body. Quinn stays completely still at first—she doesn't trust herself at _all_ with this situation—but as she looks at Rachel, a few loose locks of hair swaying back and forth as she inhales and exhales, her expression as calm and peaceful as Quinn's ever seen it, she can't stop her hand from drifting closer.

Her fingertips are less than an inch from brushing Rachel's hair away from her face when the girl stirs, and Quinn immediately withdraws her hand. Big brown eyes slowly open and focus and they meet Quinn's for one single moment before she snaps out of her reverie.

"Oh—I-I'm sorry," she mumbles, quickly putting space between her and Quinn. "I can be very clingy when I sleep."

Quinn shakes her head. "It's fine." She rolls over to face Rachel, not at all caring that it brings them a few inches closer. "How are you feeling?"

She thinks for a beat. "I'm not really sure. I suppose I'm okay. I just…" She pauses, nibbling her bottom lip. "I have a lot of thinking to do."

Something in her tone makes Quinn wonder exactly what she needs to think about but she doesn't ask. "Want some breakfast?"

"Sure," Rachel says, smiling.

Quinn sits up and goes to get out of bed but she feels a gentle hand on her wrist.

"Quinn?" She turns around and Rachel's looking up at her with those enormous brown eyes. "I wanted to thank you… for helping me last night, a-and for letting me stay. There aren't a lot of people I can trust with—" She stops, her gaze briefly falling to the comforter before meeting Quinn's again. "It means a lot to me."

The corner of Quinn's mouth lifts and she tries to ignore the pounding of her heart; these sporadic moments of honesty always knock her off her feet. "It's the least I could do."

Rachel smiles gratefully and then all but leaps out of bed and begins fixing her hair, letting it out of the elastic and smoothing out the kinks with her fingers. Quinn has to actively stop herself from appreciating how beautiful the girl looks after just waking up.

"Ready?" she asks, and after Rachel nods, she leads her downstairs. When they get to the foyer Rachel's attention is stolen by the small collection of framed black-and-white photographs on the wall. Her eyes are wide as she studies each one.

"These are amazing…" she says, her voice full of wonder and awe.

Quinn blushes. "Thanks," she mumbles, and Rachel stares at her, her jaw practically on the floor.

"You took these?"

"I went through a photography phase a few years ago," she replies, shrugging. "Before I joined the Cheerios or glee club."

"Why did you stop?"

Quinn doesn't answer right away. "Taking pretty pictures doesn't make you popular."

Rachel's eyes are back on one of the photos, one of an old, worn mailbox; Quinn's favorite. "Would you ever consider going back to it?"

She thinks for a moment. "Maybe. If something really inspired me." Rachel seems satisfied with her answer so they continue to the kitchen, where Quinn's mom is sipping a cup of coffee and reading the Style section of the newspaper. "Morning," she mutters, wishing she could ignore her completely but not wanting Rachel to get caught in the middle of this.

Her mom looks up and her gaze snaps to Rachel. "Good morning, Quinnie," she says with a false sweetness that only Quinn could notice, and it makes her skin crawl. Her mom doesn't say anything else and Quinn frowns at her tense expression.

"Mom, this is Rachel," she offers, gesturing to her, and Rachel immediately puts on a bright, friendly smile.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Fabray. You have a beautiful home."

Quinn waits for the usual "Please, call me Judy" and "That's very kind of you to say," but neither comes. Instead, her lips tighten into a forced smile and she nods once, stiffly. "Thank you." Her tone is flat and emotionless. She returns to her newspaper and Quinn's frown deepens. What is _wrong_ with this woman?

Rachel seems to sense the awkwardness. "Quinn, thank you very much for your breakfast offer, but I think it's probably best if I leave. I have a lot of homework to do and my elliptical routine is most effective when completed as early as possible." She smiles again at Quinn's mom, though this time it's a lot smaller. "It was nice meeting you," she says once more before turning to Quinn. "I just need to grab my things and then I'll be out of your way."

Quinn throws a glare at her mom and follows Rachel upstairs. "I'm sorry she's being weird," she says once they're back in her room.

"I understand," Rachel replies as she grabs her bag and hangs the strap over her shoulder. "I did show up rather unexpectedly last night. She probably thinks it was rude of me to come uninvited."

Quinn doubts that's the reason, since Santana and Brittany used to do spontaneous sleepovers all the time, but she doesn't have the heart to point that out. "Maybe." They head to the front door and Quinn opens it for her, but they both pause. Rachel looks like she's mentally wrestling with something. "Are you okay?" Quinn asks nervously, a little terrified of what the girl could be so hesitant to say.

Rachel bites her lip. "Could I hug you?" she blurts.

For the first time in a long time—so long that she almost forgot what it felt like—Quinn laughs. The chuckle bubbles from her throat before she can stop it, and though the redness that shades Rachel's face makes her feel bad, it still takes her a moment to get herself back in check. "I'm sorry, I just… no one's ever asked me for permission before."

Rachel is still flustered. "Well, normally I would just announce the hug and then proceed… but I-I wasn't sure if… if you would…" She starts to trail off and Quinn can't take it anymore. Without another word she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around Rachel, and when she feels her return the embrace, it's like a weight has been lifted that she didn't know was there in the first place.

As much as she hates herself for thinking it… she could get used to this.

They pull away and Rachel is beaming. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The way she says it, Quinn isn't sure if it's a statement or a question, but she feels the need to answer with a "yeah" anyway. She watches Rachel walk down the brick path, climb into her car, and drive away, and she only closes the door when the Hyundai disappears around the street corner.

She turns and heads back to the kitchen where her mom is washing dishes with her back to Quinn.

"What the hell was that?"

Her mom continues rinsing a plate. "Language, Quinnie," she replies evenly.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Seriously. Why did you treat her like she ran over your dog or something?"

Now she stills. "I saw you two." Her voice is quiet and sharp. Accusatory.

"Saw us _what_?" she asks, trying to recall what her mom could've witnessed them doing that would bother her so—

She whips around and slams the dish towel on the counter with her fist. "I checked on you this morning before I went to church. She… she was in your _bed_, Quinn!"

She arches an eyebrow. "And?"

"Lucy Quinn Fabray, that sort of behavior is _not_ tolerated in this house."

Her jaw slips open in disbelief. "Mom, it's not... We were just talking and we fell asleep, nothing—"

"I would appreciate it," she interrupts, sounding like she's trying very hard to remain calm, "if you didn't bring her here again."

Quinn's heart is pounding for the hundredth time today, but this time it's from a much different range of emotions. "I don't understand. Santana and Brittany have slept over a million times before. You never had a problem with them."

Her mom purses her lips and looks determinedly at the expensive tile floor. "That was before…" She doesn't finish the sentence.

"Before _what_," she asks, her voice hard, taking her time emphasizing each word, even though she knows exactly what her mom is talking about.

Her icy demeanor crumbles almost immediately. "Don't be smart with me, young lady," she snaps, trying to stay in control of the conversation.

"Say it, Mom. Before _what_?"

There's a long, deafening silence as Quinn stares her down, waiting for her mom to say something. It never happens and she storms out of the kitchen and out the front door, slamming it behind her.

* * *

><p>She walks and walks and walks and walks. There's no particular destination in mind, but she can't stand being in that house with her mother who doesn't get her and doesn't want to. Her mother who is so disapproving of her "new lifestyle" and yet can't even bring herself to say that horrible word that changed everything.<p>

Quinn is heading toward a convenience store to get some food when she remembers that her wallet and cell phone are in her room at home. She swears under her breath and decides to go to the high school; maybe the Skanks will be there and she can fix what she messed up when she got into the fight with The Mack. She might as well do something productive while she's out.

It takes her a while to get there—she guesses maybe half an hour, but she has no way to tell the time—but the trek is worth it when she finds Sheila and the other girls under the bleachers.

The Mack glares at her. "What are you doing here, Fabray?"

"My mom was being a bitch and I'm out of cigarettes."

"How's the mouth?" she asks with a smirk, not sounding at all concerned.

"Peachy."

She stares Quinn down for a bit and finally hands her a cigarette. "Nobody's ever gotten into a fight with me before. I'm always the one starting it, you know?" She gestures for one of the girls two give Quinn a lighter. "I was wrong about you. You do got some balls. And that's the only reason why I'm not gonna kick your ass for that stunt you pulled."

Quinn tries to hide the wave of relief that washes over her as they all move on to a conversation about whether or not they can rig the school's water fountains to dispense vodka.

They spend the day wandering through town; they corner a few middle schoolers for money, shoplift some food from a gas station, and sneak into two movies in a row at the theater. Quinn feels bad for everyone who encounters them, but at the same time she finds comfort in the fearlessness that comes with being surrounded by The Mack and Sheila and Ronnie. All people see when they look at her is a punk, and she plays the role like Bruce Wayne wearing his Batman costume. Nothing bad can happen when she's this person, and since she can't get out, she might as well savor this one perk.

Quinn finally departs from the group at dusk. It's weird walking around Lima on a Sunday night; the streets have emptied for the most part and the air is silent except for the occasional bird or plane. She imagines that she's walking through a post-apocalyptic version of the town, where there's nobody around to judge her or tell her what she's doing wrong.

She gets lost in her thoughts for a while, playing out the scenario in her head, trying to decide who in the glee club would survive and who would fall apart when the going got tough. She's wondering what category she would fit into when she hears footsteps behind her. Her heart skips a beat but she figures somebody's just out for an evening stroll or something and she doesn't worry about it.

It's not until the footsteps follow her around two corners in a row that she starts to get nervous. She glances quickly over her shoulder and sees two guys that look to be about her age, both wearing dark, baggy clothes, and their expressions are unsettling.

She speeds up a little and a chill shoots up her spine when she hears the heavy shoes behind her do the same. Quinn decides to cut through the park, thinking there might be some families or a jogger or two to make her pursuers back off, and her heart sinks when she finds the area completely devoid of life. Where _is_ everybody?

A hand grabs her elbow and she whips around, trying to yank her arm from the boy's grasp with no success.

"Let go of me," she demands in a tone that would have made Sue Sylvester proud.

He sneers and waits as his friend comes closer. "I don't take orders from dykes," he says, and Quinn's blood turns to ice.

"Wh… what are you talking about?" She jerks her arm again to try to free herself but there's a sudden blow to her stomach and she grunts and doubles over. "Please," she gasps, "I'm not—" A rough hand grabs a fistful of her hair and she cries out, tears springing to her eyes.

"Listen," the other boy begins, bringing his mouth right next to her ear, "we don't need freaks like you in this town. So why don't you do us all a favor and go jump off a building." The hand tugging at her scalp lets go only to return with a harsh slap across her cheek. The hit knocks her off-balance and before she can recover, one of them shoves her to the ground. She manages to land on her hands and knees but a shoe rockets into ribs and her torso explodes with pain and then she's on her back and her lungs are heaving for air.

Quinn tries her best to curl into a ball but the kicks keep coming and her arms and legs are screaming in pain and she's pretty sure she is too but her pulse is pounding in her ears and she can barely hear anything else.

Then, finally, it stops.

She opens her eyes, not having realized they were closed until now, and sees the two boys walking away, their shapes blurry from her tears. Her breathing is ragged and loud and every inhale and exhale hurts like hell, worse than even the most grueling Cheerios practice.

Quinn slowly rolls over, her fingers clutching at the grass as she tries to steady herself, and as she gets up off the ground, she grits her teeth from the pain flaring through her torso and the god-awful throbbing everywhere else in her body.

She manages to coax her legs into walking again even though all she wants to do is collapse. All of her senses are on high alert now and she flinches at the quietest noise, her wide eyes snapping to any movement, because if she sees anyone else who looks even remotely threatening, she's going to start running.

If she's being honest with herself she doesn't even know if she _can_ run; her right arm is cradling her ribs and she has a feeling they'll give her hell if she tries to do anything fancy. So she walks as fast as she can toward home, the closest thing to safety she has.

By the time her hand reaches the doorknob she barely has any energy left in her body. She pushes the door open and steps inside before locking it behind her. The house smells like whatever her mom made for dinner and the sound of the local news station is coming from the living room. She heads in that direction and when she comes around the corner and sees her mom sitting on the couch, her bottom lip starts to tremble; she's never been one to seek comfort from her mom, but she's seriously considering it now.

She sniffles and her mom looks over her shoulder at her. Quinn waits for a reaction, wondering if there will be panicked concern, or if her mom will know it's because of that _thing_ they're not allowed to talk about and get angry instead. She wonders if her mom will want to examine her injuries or call the police, or if Quinn would even let her.

Her mom's eyes dip as they survey her appearance, and except for a flash of what almost seems to say _I'm not surprised_, her face remains impassive. Her gaze travels back up to meet Quinn's for a brief moment before she turns back to the TV.

Quinn's heart plummets to the floor. Her eyes are burning, her trembling lips parted as she tries to say something, to shout or whisper or just make her mom _care_, but her aching lungs decide it's a lost cause before she can accept it herself.

She makes her way upstairs slowly, with her battered body protesting every step of the way. When she gets to her bedroom she ignores the light switch and rummages through her bureau in the dark, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a plain cotton t-shirt that Puck left there once, and she carefully steps out of her current clothes and into the new ones.

Her bed is still unmade from this morning and instead of getting in on the left like she usually does, she walks around to the other side and pulls back the covers before sinking into the mattress with as much grace as possible, though she still grimaces from the pressure on her already-forming bruises. Quinn lies still for a long moment, thinking about how Rachel was lying in this spot this morning, and wondering if she really can smell the remnants of her shampoo or if she's just imagining it. She thinks about her hug with Rachel, and how her arms were so warm and gentle and secure around her, and she thinks about the hand in her hair and the fists crashing into her without mercy. She thinks about how she has never felt so unloved by her own mother.

Quinn thinks about all of this, curls into a tight, shaking ball, and cries herself to sleep.


	9. Security

When Quinn opens her eyes the next the next morning, she quickly realizes that her eyelids are just about all she can move without feeling any pain. Her body feels like lead; her muscles are stiff and sore and the second she tries to sit up, her torso all but bursts into flame. She falls back with a grunt and covers her face with her hands, inhaling and exhaling slowly, and then glances at her clock—her alarm is supposed to go off in eight minutes.

She reaches over and turns it off, seeing no point in going back to sleep because it'll probably take her those eight minutes just to get out of bed. After a long moment of deliberation she works out a plan that she thinks will get her to her feet as painlessly as possible; she rolls onto her side and almost off the bed, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress to catch herself, and then slowly straightens her body until she's standing upright.

Quinn makes her way to the bathroom down the hall and locks the door behind her but doesn't turn on the light quite yet. Instead she stands in front of the mirror over the sink; all she can see in the darkness is the vague outline of her hair and face. She strips down to her underwear, her movements careful and calculated, like a five-year-old trying really hard to color inside the lines. She takes a deep breath—even though her ribs give her hell for it—and flips the switch.

As much pain as she's in, she shouldn't be shocked by all the bruises, but she is. A lump forms in her throat as her eyes dart from the dark blotches along her arms, to the faint shadow covering her cheek, to the angry patch of purple-blue sprawled along her rib cage. She can't stop herself from thinking about the looks on the guys' faces and his voice in her ear and their hard shoes and fists pummeling her body—

And then Quinn is digging through the cabinet and she pulls out the box of blonde hair dye that her mom left on her desk the day after she got the pink done. She turns the shower on to let the water warm up while she reads the directions, and thirty seconds later she's beginning step number one.

She needs to look normal again.

* * *

><p>By the time she finally climbs into her car, she's running twenty minutes late. Her aching body argued with her every movement as she dressed in jeans and a white blouse with a pale yellow, long-sleeved cardigan, all chosen for their average-ness and ability to hide her bruises.<p>

As Quinn drives she wonders if anyone will recognize her now that she's done another one-eighty with her appearance. It would be an absolute miracle if people mistook her for some random student, seeing as how her plan for the day is to avoid Sheila and The Mack at all costs; she doesn't want them asking any questions about the switch, although they would probably skip the curiosity and go straight to anger.

She parks in the main lot and reaches the front doors just as the bell rings to signal the start of first period. Quinn ignores it and heads around the corner toward her destination.

"Puck," she calls out when she sees him at his locker, adjusting a few hairs in his mohawk while he too ignores the fact that he should be in class.

He turns away from the mirror and does an obvious double take. "Whoa, Quinn… you're, like, not scary-looking anymore."

"Yeah, I'm aware," she says, fighting an eye roll. "Listen," she continues, her voice low, "you broke some ribs playing football freshman year, right?"

"Yep. I was off the team for a month." Puck quirks an eyebrow. "What's it to you?"

She glances down the hallway briefly to make sure nobody's around. "I'm going to show you something, and you can't tell _anybody_, okay?"

He shrugs. "Sure. Whatever."

"No, not 'whatever.' You can't tell anybody, Puck. I mean it."

"Okay, okay, I got it," he says, holding up his hands in surrender.

Quinn looks around one more time before slowly pulling up the hem of her shirt.

"Dude, you're not flashing me, are you? We've talked about this, Quinn, I'm not into you anymore—"

"Please shut up," she interrupts. "I need you to tell me if these are broken or not." She turns to the side so her bruised ribs are facing him, and his eyes widen.

"_Jesus_, Quinn!" he hisses, bending over a little to get a closer look. "What happened?"

She ignores the question. "How does it look?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know… I don't _think_ anything's broken…" Puck's eyes bore into hers. "Seriously, Quinn. What happened to you?"

"It's a long story," she mutters, pulling her shirt back down.

"Then just tell me whose ass I need to kick."

She shakes her head, dropping her gaze to the floor.

"Quinn, you can't protect the asshole who did this to you. It's not gonna do anybody any good."

She finally looks him in the eye again. "I didn't know them," she says quietly.

Puck clenches his jaw and takes a few deep breaths, his nostrils flaring. She can see his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Are you okay?" he asks after a moment, his voice is surprisingly soft.

She nods.

He looks at her for another second and then steps closer and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Listen… if you need anything, call me. I got your back, Quinn. I promise."

She gives him a small smile. "Thank you."

He offers his signature lopsided grin before closing his locker and heading off down the hallway.

Quinn goes in the opposite direction and arrives at her history class in the middle of attendance. Several gazes snap to her as she takes her seat in the third row, but once they see how boring she looks now, they quickly lose interest.

The same thing happens in her next several classes; she gets lots of looks but they never last long, and eventually they stop altogether because she's just not interesting anymore. Without her pink hair and black clothes and nose ring, there's no reason for them to track her every movement, no reason for them to care. Quinn is overjoyed.

She even manages to steer clear of the Skanks. Granted, it involves her skipping lunch and reading a book in the library instead, but she doesn't mind being hungry if it means she doesn't have to deal with them.

She hasn't seen Rachel yet, either, but she's been working hard for that. Knowing her, she'll take one look at Quinn and instantly know that something's wrong, and the last thing she wants is Rachel feeling bad for her yet again. If they don't interact then she can't ask, and if she doesn't ask, Quinn doesn't need to tell her.

She makes it through her sixth class before that plan crashes and burns.

"Hey, Quinn!"

Rachel's bright and cheerful voice next to her so abruptly makes her jump.

"Hey," she says, throwing her a quick smile before turning back to her locker. A jock shoves his friend into the lockers a few yards away and she flinches again as she tries to remember which books she needs for class.

"I see you've changed your hair back. While I did enjoy the pink, I think the blond suits you the best. It complements your skin tone quite nicely." There's a pause. "Quinn, are you listening to me?"

She's not, because she's in a crowded hallway between classes and all she can hear is the footsteps behind her and she's finding it hard to breathe normally. "Yeah. Sorry. I'm just tired," she answers vaguely.

"Are you okay?" Rachel is looking at her carefully.

She forces another smile on her face and nods. "Yeah, I'm good. I have to go to class, I'll see you later."

"We have English together, remember?" Rachel asks, her voice neutral even though she looks a bit confused.

"Oh. Right. Um, I'll meet you there, okay?" There's no way she can keep up with Rachel's power-walk when her body is aching like this. She turns away from her and heads toward the bathroom, trying to move as normally as possible, but her legs and torso are too stiff and she knows it doesn't look right. She silently begs Rachel not to notice, but just as she's pushing open the bathroom door, the girl's voice calls out to her. She ignores it and lets the door close behind her.

Barely five seconds pass before the door opens again and she waits for Rachel to storm in and demand Quinn to tell her what's going on, but instead she slips quietly into the room and leaves several feet of space between the two of them.

"Quinn?" Her voice is gentle, patient.

She can feel Rachel's eyes studying her slightly hunched posture, and when she finally dares to meet her gaze, Rachel's eyebrows are pulled together in concern.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she answers half-heartedly, looking away again.

Rachel crosses her arms. "Don't lie to me, Quinn."

She clenches her jaw and her arm wraps around her ribs involuntarily. Rachel doesn't miss this and she comes closer, and when she's right in front of Quinn, she gently takes her wrist and pulls it away from her body. Rachel locks eyes with Quinn to make sure what she's doing is okay, and when Quinn doesn't stop her, she begins to pull up her sleeve.

The first bruise is on her forearm and Rachel frowns before moving on to the other sleeve. This time she finds the one just below her elbow that's distinctly hand-shaped; Quinn winces and Rachel's breath hitches.

Brown eyes meet hazel. "There's more, isn't there?" the brunette asks, though it's more of a statement than a question.

Quinn swallows. "I don't want you to see."

"Quinn, please. Show me."

She waits a few beats before slowly pulling her arm from Rachel's grasp. She uses both hands to lift her shirt, looking up at the ceiling so she doesn't have to see Rachel's reaction, and when she hears a quiet gasp, she immediately yanks the cloth back down.

Rachel's eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open a bit, and she looks like she's about to cry. "That… Quinn… _fuck_," she breathes, and if this were any other situation Quinn would have laughed at her curse word. Rachel finally lifts her gaze to meet Quinn's. "Who did this to you?"

She hesitates. "I don't know," she says, her voice cracking.

Now Rachel just looks horrified. "What happened?"

She shakes her head slowly. "Rachel, please…" She would give anything not to have to say it out loud, these things that she hasn't even admitted to herself yet, but Rachel's gaze is unrelenting.

"Quinn, what is it? You know I won't judge you and I won't tell anybody. I-I just want…" She pauses as her voice starts to shake with emotion. "I _need_ to know why you're hurt."

Just like that, she crumbles. Quinn finds a spot on the wall behind Rachel and stares blankly at it because she can't bear to see the pain in those brown eyes. The bell rings to signal that start of class. "They followed me when I was walking home last night," she begins slowly. "They knew, Rachel. Just by _looking_ at me." Her throat is thick and her eyes are wet.

Rachel opens her mouth to say something but Quinn cuts her off.

"Do I look _gay_ to you?" she asks, her voice rising. "I got rid of the pink—does that help? Don't straight girls wear clothes like these? Or is there some neon sign floating above my head that has my sexual orientation written in capital letters?" Tears are spilling down her cheeks and she can feel her face crumpling.

Rachel's eyes are glassy. "Quinn…"

"What if other people find out? What if people from _school_ find out? Am I going to get jumped in the hallway every day? Am I going to have to transfer like Kurt? Am I going to be safe _anywhere_?" She's crying freely now and she can barely see Rachel through her blurry eyes. "My own _mother_ didn't even—" She stops abruptly. She wasn't planning on sharing that part.

"She didn't what?" Rachel's voice is quiet.

Quinn takes a shaky breath. "When I got home," she whispers. "She saw what happened. And she didn't say a word." A sob tears through her lungs and her ribs ache. "She didn't do _anything_, Rachel. Why didn't she do anything?"

Before she can take another breath, Rachel's arms are wrapped around her and she's holding Quinn so tightly it hurts, but she all but collapses into the embrace and squeezes her back with all she's worth. Her shoulders shake as she cries but Rachel's grip on her never slackens, and she wonders how the shorter girl can make her feel so secure.

Neither of them speaks and for a long time the only sound in the room is Quinn's gradually quieting sobs and sniffles. By some act of divine intervention nobody comes into the bathroom, and she sends up a quick prayer of thanks to whoever the hell is apparently in control up there.

"Would you like to come to my house after school?" Rachel asks suddenly, her voice soft.

"I can't. I have to meet with Figgins."

"After that, then. You can stay for dinner and spend the night in the guest room."

"It's a school night. Won't your dads—"

"They will be perfectly okay with it, Quinn." Rachel's fingertips are dancing along the curve of her shoulder blade. "Especially if they know _why_."

Quinn freezes. "You can't tell them what happened."

"I promise I won't. But—i-if you wanted—_you_ could talk to them about it."

Her heart skips a beat. "I don't know if—"

"Like I said, Quinn. Only if you want to."

She swallows. "Okay." She slowly loosens her hold on Rachel and they move apart, the brunette looking intently at Quinn. She yanks a paper towel from the dispenser and hands it to her, and Quinn wipes the damp tear trails from her cheeks.

"So I'll meet you at your locker after you're done with Principal Figgins?"

Quinn nods.

Rachel gives her a small but powerful smile. "Ready to go to English?"

She lets out a short, hoarse laugh. "There's no place I'd rather be."

They leave the bathroom and Quinn finds a piece of paper taped to the other side of the door that says OUT OF ORDER; the words are scrawled in what she recognizes as Puck's handwriting.

When they get to class the teacher scolds them for being late, but softens after Rachel gives her a long and detailed story about her locker being jammed and how she asked Quinn to help her get it open because she knows Quinn is stronger than her, and how she's terribly sorry for making them both tardy but she would hate to come to class unprepared.

Quinn simply nods in confirmation the whole time and soon they are both seated at their desks, punishment-free. She catches the brunette's eye across the room and mouths "Thank you."

Rachel just smiles back, and that look gets Quinn through the rest of her classes.

* * *

><p>Figgins ends up sentencing her to a week of detention, starting the next day. During their meeting he seems extremely confused about her sudden change in appearance, but he doesn't say anything and Quinn remains poker-faced.<p>

She leaves the office and makes her way through the now empty school, walking even slower than she has all day because her aching body is officially starting to manifest its intense hatred of the uncomfortable desks and bouts of traveling from class to class. She misses the days when she wasn't ready to drop dead by the final bell.

As promised, Rachel is waiting beside her locker. They begin walking toward the parking lot and they're almost to their cars when Quinn realizes that Rachel has been matching her slower pace step for step.

She drives behind Rachel for the short journey to her house, and when they pull into her driveway, Rachel is at her side before she's even gotten out of her seat. Rachel watches, ready to help but not forcing her assistance, as she slowly pulls herself out of her car like she did in the parking lot this morning. She avoids the more painful movements that she did the first time, but her ribs are still throbbing by the time she's out.

Together they walk to the front door and into the house, and Quinn notices an immediate difference from the last time she was here. Rachel's dads are home so the place is bursting with energy; Frank Sinatra is playing from somewhere and she can hear them singing along in the kitchen, and the temperature feels about twenty degrees warmer than her house.

Rachel leads her in that direction and as they walk in, both of her dads see them and stop what they're doing. She speaks before they can say anything.

"Dad, Daddy—this is my friend, Quinn Fabray. She's joining us for dinner and then spending the night."

Quinn is surprised that Rachel tells them this rather than asking for permission, but then she wonders if, given her reputation, they would have agreed.

The two men exchange confused glances and the shorter one who shares Rachel's eyes recovers first. "Great! Do you like spaghetti? Leroy's making his famous homemade sauce."

Quinn gives them a small smile. "I can't wait."

He grins. "I'm Hiram, by the way." He gestures to his husband, who's standing over a pot on the stove. "And as I mentioned, this is Leroy."

The man glances at her over his shoulder and waves.

"It's nice to meet you both."

"Likewise," Leroy says, sprinkling something into the sauce. "Dinner will be ready in about an hour, girls."

Quinn and Rachel get their homework done while they wait and return to the kitchen when Hiram calls for them. The food is delicious; Quinn is starving from having skipped lunch so she practically inhales two helpings of spaghetti. She's surprised by how easy it is to talk to Rachel's dads when they ask her about school and her interests (she mentions photography and Rachel beams). They don't bring up glee club or her family, which leads Quinn to believe that Rachel's already given them the basic information. She wonders if Rachel talks about her a lot.

When the meal is over and the dishes are cleared, Hiram and Leroy open a bottle of wine and chat animatedly about a bizarre mixture of sports and soap operas and work.

"Do you want to watch TV?" Rachel asks, drifting toward the living room, but Quinn lingers in the kitchen. Her ribs have been aching this whole time and she's starting to think that _maybe_ an adult should look at them.

Rachel notices her eyes on the Berry men and nods encouragingly, so Quinn takes a few steps closer to them.

"Mr. Berry?" she says, her voice small.

They simultaneously turn to her and tell her to call them by their respective first names, and they lapse into a brief laughing fit before refocusing on Quinn.

"What can we help you with?"

She chews her bottom lip for a moment. "Last night… I got hurt," she begins slowly, "And I was wondering if you could… check to make sure it's not bad."

The dads are wearing identical expressions of concern.

"Of course we can take a look at it," Leroy says, his tone thick with compassion. "Could you show us the injury, dear?"

Quinn nods and licks her lips, and then pulls her shirt up for the third time today. Both he and his husband grimace at the sight of the monstrous bruise.

"Sweet _Barbra_, what happened to you?" He doesn't wait for her to respond. "Hiram, get her a bag of ice," he says before coming closer and crouching in front of her. He peers at the darkened flesh, his warm fingertips gently prodding the ribs underneath. "Well, I don't think anything's broken, but this is still one hell of a bruise. Have you taken any painkillers?"

Quinn shakes her head. "I'm fine."

He gives her a look. "You are _not_ fine, sweetie." He glances at Rachel. "Baby, can you grab a sports bra for Quinn to change into?" She scurries to find one and he looks at Quinn again. "Would you be okay with wearing one for the time being? We don't want you to feel uncomfortable but that would make it easier to apply the ice."

"That's fine," she mutters as Rachel returns with a plain black sports bra and a pair of gray sweatpants and hands them to Quinn. She changes in the bathroom down the hall, careful to avoid looking in the mirror, and when she comes back, Rachel's dad is ready with a bag of ice, ACE bandages, and two Tylenol.

"Tell me if this hurts too much," he says as he presses the ice gently against her bruise.

She hisses in pain and holds the ice in place as he wraps the ACE bandage around her torso, and when he tells her to let go, it stays snug against her skin.

"How's it feel?"

"Really cold."

He chuckles. "Ah, so it's working then." He gets a glass of water and hands it to her along with the pills. "Take these. They'll ease the pain a bit."

She downs the pills and then Hiram appears with a maroon blanket and drapes it around Quinn's shoulders. "Why don't you girls go watch TV for a bit?"

She looks to Rachel who gestures for Quinn to follow her to the living room. Rachel takes on the far end of the couch and Quinn hesitates; should she sit on the other end? Right next to Rachel? Somewhere in the middle?

She saves Quinn from having to make the decision by patting her thigh. "Come on," she says with a small smile, "I'll be your pillow."

Quinn swallows and sinks into the center cushion, then slowly leans back until her head is resting on Rachel's leg. Rachel grabs the remote, turns on the TV, and searches through the channels to find something to watch, and suddenly her free hand is in Quinn's hair, her fingers gently gliding through her blonde locks. The unexpected contact makes her heart race at first, but her pulse returns to normal with each stroke. Finally, despite the dull aching of her ribs, she finds herself relaxing. Rachel settles on a sitcom that Quinn's never seen before and even though the acting kind of sucks and the writing is cheesy, she lets herself laugh.

She doesn't realize she's fallen asleep until she feels two strong arms slide under her and lift her off the couch, but even then her eyelids are too heavy to open so she lets herself be carried upstairs, still wrapped in the blanket. Quinn is vaguely aware of a door opening before the arms set her down on a bed; the ACE bandage around her torso is carefully unwrapped and the now somewhat melted bag of ice removed; blankets cover her, footsteps move away, and the door closes.

Quinn isn't sure when the nightmare starts. Two figures appear out of nowhere and then they're attacking her from all sides, every angle, and she can't get away from them. She thrashes and screams and tries to run but she can't move and the blows keep coming and she starts to think they're never going to stop.

Something collides with her ribs and her eyes snap open. She's sweating and gasping for air and the bruised part of her torso is killing her; she rolls onto her other side but it does little to ease the pain.

She's trying to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks when she hears someone come in. They close the door behind them and she hears their quiet footsteps circle the bed. The covers are pulled back and the mattress sinks and the second an arm slips around her waist, she knows it's Rachel. The she pushes herself flush against Quinn's back, holding her tightly as she trembles and tries to steady her erratic breathing, and she even feels a light kiss on her cheek.

"You're safe, Quinn," Rachel murmurs in her ear, "I've got you. You're safe." She whispers it over and over and at some point her hand finds Quinn's and their fingers lace and she squeezes like she's dangling off the edge of a cliff.

The figures return again and again that night, but every time she jerks awake with her breathing ragged and pain flaring, she's still in Rachel's arms, and their hands are still joined, and she has never been more grateful for anything in her life.


	10. Experiments

"Quinn? Quinn, wake up."

The soft voice and a gentle nudging of her shoulder finally make her open her eyes, and the first thing that swims into focus is Rachel's face very, very close to hers. Sometime during the night she must have rolled over and now she's facing the other girl, and from the warmth along her entire body, she can tell that they're lying only inches apart. "Rachel? Whuh's wrong?" she mumbles sleepily.

She giggles. "Nothing is wrong. We have to get ready for school."

Quinn groans and pulls the covers up higher. "What time is it?"

"Six. I-I wasn't sure what time you usually wake up in the morning… I always wake up at six on the dot, even without an alarm, a-and I didn't want to wake you too early but I wanted to ensure you had sufficient time to complete your morning routine." She nibbles her lip, like she's anxious to know if she did the right thing.

Quinn smiles. "Thanks for waking me up." She lets her gaze wander over Rachel's mussed hair, her face completely free of makeup, her eyes bright and energetic despite having been asleep mere minutes ago.

"How are you feeling?"

She shifts a little to test her ribs; they're still pretty sore but the pain has eased off. "Better."

The corner of Rachel's mouth lifts and suddenly her hand is on Quinn's cheek, her thumb brushing over the faint mark she knows is there. "The bruise under your eye is almost gone," she murmurs as she moves her finger back and forth.

Quinn swallows and begins to count every second that Rachel doesn't remove her hand. She looks deep into the brown irises in front of her, trying to figure out what's going on in Rachel's head, but the gentle caresses on her cheek are almost hypnotizing and her eyes start to flutter closed.

Three brisk knocks on the door jerk her away from Rachel.

"Up and at 'em, girls! Time to get moving!" Hiram calls from the hallway.

Quinn sits up quickly and stares at the door with wide eyes before glancing at Rachel. "He knows you're in here with me?"

Rachel props herself up on her elbow. "He probably came to that conclusion when he observed that I wasn't in my own room." She frowns in confusion. "Are you okay?"

She looks away and takes a moment to remind herself that not all parents are uptight about girls sharing beds. "Yeah… sorry." A sudden realization hits her and she blurts it out to change the subject. "I don't have any clothes."

Rachel immediately brightens. "Not to worry, Quinn. You're more than welcome to borrow something of mine." She pulls back the sheets, gets off the bed, and heads for the door. "Would you like to come pick something out?"

"Sure." She grabs the blanket from the floor and wraps it around herself so won't be walking around in a sports bra and follows Rachel down the hall to her room. After a few minutes of searching Rachel helps her find a light pink blouse and a pair of jeans; both look a bit tight but they work, and she's relieved that the girl owns "normal" clothes. She doesn't want it to be glaringly obvious that she's wearing Rachel's stuff.

Rachel gives her the first shower slot so she can work out on her elliptical. Quinn doesn't understand how Rachel can be so _Rachel_ so early in the morning; her explanation of how to adjust the temperature and water pressure is about twice as long as it needs to be, not to mention filled with vocabulary Quinn only knows from watching spelling bees on TV, but she hangs on to every word anyway. She knows there aren't many people who actually listen to the things that come out of Rachel's mouth (okay, it's pretty much her dads and Quinn), so she makes sure her part of it, at least, is one-hundred percent.

Rachel finally departs after she feels she's given her all the necessary information, and Quinn starts up the shower so she can brush her teeth while the water heats up. She likes that the oval shape of the mirror in front of her doesn't show her ribs, and for a moment she can pretend that everything's normal. She's just blonde-haired, athletic Quinn Fabray, getting ready for a normal day at school, brushing her teeth in Rachel Berry's bathroom, about to bathe in Rachel Berry's shower…

Okay, so there's _nothing_ normal about this, she thinks as she spits into the sink. She strips and pulls aside the plastic curtain and steps under the stream of water, sighing as her muscles relax under the soothing heat. Quinn can't stifle a laugh when she sees a microphone-shaped sponge sitting on the shelf in the corner, but then she's picturing Rachel singing her heart out as she spreads soap along her wet and very, very naked body…

She leans forward and sticks her face under the shower head until the images go away, and then her hands move quickly so she can wash her hair and get out. She feels so dirty thinking those things—ironic, given that this is supposed to make her cleaner—but she still finds herself inhaling deeply as she massages Rachel's signature strawberry shampoo into her own hair.

She's allowed to like a smell, isn't she?

* * *

><p>Quinn and Hiram chat over their bowls of Cocoa Puffs as Rachel gets ready and then she elects to follow Quinn to school. They pull into the parking lot and she takes the space adjacent to Quinn's, and they walk into the building side-by-side, discussing the chapter they were supposed to read for English.<p>

They stop at Rachel's locker and are in the middle of an argument about whether the main character's love interest is a jerk or just misunderstood when Rachel pauses.

"Hey, Quinn?"

"Yeah?" It always scares the crap out of her when Rachel does this—chewing her bottom lip, looking up at her nervously, like she's about to tell her she has cancer or something.

"I was just wondering—and of course you're welcome to say no, and I completely understand why you might not want..." She takes a deep breath to steady herself. "Would you like to eat lunch with me? I usually spend the period in the choir room so I can get some extra practice in, and... it would be nice to have some company." Rachel looks away as her cheeks flush, like she's embarrassed to be asking such a thing.

Quinn takes it back. These timid requests are _adorable_. "Sure," she replies with a smile, and Rachel beams at her like they just won Nationals.

"Good morning Q," drawls an unmistakable voice from behind her.

Rachel's expression dims considerably as Santana and Brittany appear beside them. The former's lips are curved into a giant smirk as she eyes them, obviously entertained by what she sees.

"_Berry_," she continues.

"M-morning," Rachel manages, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

Brittany turns to Quinn. "You look really pretty today. I'm glad you're you again."

"Yeah, Puckerman mentioned you went back to the Housewife Barbie look. We just had to see it for ourselves."

She ignores Santana. "Thanks, Britt."

Brittany grins. "So does this mean you're coming back to glee club?"

"No. I'm just..." She sighs. "No."

Her smile dissolves into a pout. "That's sad. It's not as fun singing and dancing without you. And San keeps saying how much she misses you and I want her to be happy so—"

"Okay, B, time to go," Santana interrupts, her tan skin showing just a hint of red as she links their pinkies and drags her away.

"Bye, Quinn! Bye, Rachel!" Brittany calls over her shoulder.

Rachel watches their retreating forms. "They really are a strange pair, aren't they? At first glance you would never put them together... but they really work. They complement each other perfectly."

Quinn nods slowly. She wants to know what's on Santana's mind right now, because that was definitely her "I'm scheming and wouldn't _you_ like to know what I'm up to" smile, and she doesn't like that it was directed at her.

The warning bell rings to signal that everybody should head to their first class.

"See you at lunch?" Quinn asks, because she wants to bring back the smile that disappeared when Santana interrupted them. It works like a charm.

"I couldn't be more excited," Rachel replies, beaming, before turning on her heel and going in the direction of her homeroom.

Quinn does the same and wonders briefly why Rachel is making such a big deal out of this whole lunch thing, but then she realizes she probably doesn't invite people to eat with her very often. She probably doesn't invite people to do _anything_ very often; why would you, if you assumed they would say no? This thought brings a small smile to her face—she likes that Rachel took the risk with her.

She likes that for the first time in weeks, she has something to look forward to at school.

* * *

><p>Quinn shouldn't be nervous as she walks down the hallway to the choir room. Okay, maybe she's not nervous, but she's <em>anxious<em>, and she shouldn't be that either. Her stomach shouldn't be twisted in knots, her pulse shouldn't be racing through her veins, and she shouldn't feel about ten degrees warmer than usual (she decides that Sue Sylvester probably turned up the heat in the school so the Cheerios can sweat out the calories they don't burn during practices. That's almost more logical than the alternative.)

She's not surprised when she opens the door and finds Rachel there already, eating a salad as she pores over a pile of what looks to be sheet music. She doesn't expect to see Brad sitting at the piano, but she returns his nonchalant wave and approaches Rachel, who's so enveloped in her thoughts that she still hasn't noticed Quinn's presence.

"Is this seat taken?" she asks playfully, and Rachel's head snaps up.

"Quinn! I'm so glad you're here!" Her eyes are bright with excitement as she abandons her food and hands the music to Brad. "I was just studying the song that I'll be performing for glee club this afternoon, and I'd hoped..." She looks nervous again and Quinn practically melts into her plastic chair. "I hoped maybe I could sing it for you, a-and see what you thought about it?"

Quinn pulls out the apple she brought from the Berrys' house this morning and takes a bite. "As long as it's not another Miley Cyrus song, I'm all ears."

"No, it is _not_ a Miley song, though I stand firmly behind my opinion that the lyrics to 'The Climb' are quite inspirational. Furthermore, that particular performance of mine was only sub-par to my otherwise outstanding vocal abilities because I was suffering from a physical ailment that heavily affected my—" Rachel stops when she sees the amused look on Quinn's face and realizes she was joking. Her cheeks flush red as she clears her throat. "Anyways, this week's theme, as decided by Mr. Schue, is optimism, so I chose a song pertaining to my recent breakup with Finn in order to assist the healing process."

Quinn tries not to flinch at the mention of the boy and instead takes an extra-large bite out of the apple.

Rachel nods to Brad and he begins to play; the melody is light and bouncy and Rachel snaps her fingers to the beat.

_Goodbye  
><em>_Should be saying that to you by now, shouldn't I?  
><em>_Laying down the law that I live by  
><em>_Well, maybe next time_

_I've got a thick tongue  
><em>_Brimming with the words that go unsung  
><em>_I simmer then I burn for a someone  
><em>_A wrong one_

She does little dance moves as she sings, swaying her hips slightly with a coy smile on her face. The corners of Quinn's lips stretch into a matching grin.

_And I tell myself to let the story end  
><em>_That my heart will rest in someone else's hand  
><em>_My "why not me" philosophy began  
><em>_And I say_

_Ooh, how'm I gonna get over you?  
><em>_I'll be all right, just not tonight  
><em>_Someday, oh I wish you'd want me to stay  
><em>_I'll be all right, just not tonight  
><em>_Someday_

Quinn crosses one leg over the other and her foot bobs along with the melody as a line from the first verse repeats in her mind. _"My heart will rest in someone else's hand..."_

_Maybe is a vicious little word that could slay me  
><em>_Keep me when I'm hurting, you make me  
><em>_Hang from your hands_

_Well, no more  
><em>_I won't beg to buy a shot at your back door  
><em>_If I make it at the thought of you, what for?  
><em>_It's not me anymore_

Now Rachel turns and begins singing the words to Brad, who seems completely unaware of anything except his fingers dancing wildly along the piano keys.

_And I'm not the girl that I intend to be  
><em>_I dare you, darling, just you wait and see  
><em>_But this time not for you, but just for me_

She goes through the chorus again and Quinn is trying hard not to stare so openly at her, but the look of sheer happiness on her face—the one she's only ever seen when Rachel is giving everything she's got to the spotlight, whether literal or metaphorical—is making it very difficult to tear her eyes away.

_Someday  
><em>_Say it's coming soon  
><em>_Someday without you  
><em>_All I can do  
><em>_Is get me past the ghost of you  
><em>_Wave goodbye to me  
><em>_I won't say I'm sorry  
><em>_I'll be all right  
><em>_Once I find the other side of someday_

She does several long "whoa"s and launches into the final stretch of the song, and at this point Quinn has entirely forgotten about her apple. She applauds when Rachel finishes and laughs when she dips down for a small curtsy.

"'Someday,' huh?" she asks as Rachel returns to her seat, slightly out of breath.

"Well, if I'm being honest with you, I took some liberties with the lyrical meaning. I'm already quite 'over' him, as they say, but I wanted to seize the opportunity to sing something that was neither sappy nor melodramatic." She adjusts her skirt. "I'm told I do that a lot."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "If anyone complains about your song choice, it's only because they can't complain about anything else. You have an incredible voice, and that's what matters."

Rachel tries her best to stifle the smile spreading across her face. "Thank you. Of course, the real performance will include a full band and backup singers and will therefore have a much more complete sound, but..." She gazes thoughtfully at the grand, which Brad has vacated. "There's something really magical about singing with just a piano."

For a moment Quinn wonders if she's referencing those songs from the auditorium last week, but then Rachel is talking about classes and she doesn't get the chance to... well, probably not ask her.

They spend the rest of the period talking about food; Rachel tries to convince her that vegan foods aren't as disgusting as Quinn thinks they look, while Quinn in turn fiercely defends her love of bacon. The discussion lasts them to the end of lunch, continues as they walk to English, and doesn't stop until their teacher begins the lesson.

She can't remember the last time she talked to someone this much. What surprises her, though, is that they're not even talking about serious or heavy subjects, and yet she feels like she could never run out of things to say. Having to stay silent in class while Rachel is sitting right next to her is more torturous than she cares to admit.

The bell rings and Rachel starts right where they left off. "Have you ever tried vegan ice cream?" she demands as if that's all she's been thinking about for the last forty-five minutes.

"I can't say I have."

Suddenly she looks excited. "Come over after school again. You can do some experimenting!"

If Quinn was drinking something, she would've spit it out. "Excuse me?" she says, practically choking on her own breath.

Rachel seems unfazed by Quinn's reaction. "With the ice cream. I know we have several different flavors in the freezer and I would bet my inevitable future career on Broadway that you'll like at least one of them."

Quinn manages a small chuckle. "Okay, fine."

Rachel grins. "I'll meet you at your locker at four."

She watches her walk away with a lopsided smile on her face. This will be the fifth day in a row that she's hung out with Rachel outside of school, and there's something that just seems so _right_ about that. She wonders how long she can keep the streak going, and then she wonders why she wants to do that in the first place, and then she swallows thickly because she just might be getting in over her head.

* * *

><p>Quinn's heart is hammering in her chest as she enters the detention room. She hasn't seen The Mack—or any of the Skanks—since Sunday and she knows she's about to face some heavy hell for ditching them. The dangerously pissed-off look she receives from the girl when she sees her walk in confirms this theory.<p>

She slips into a desk in the back of the room, away from the kids she suspects are regulars here, and pulls out a book to entertain herself for the next hour. Quinn makes it through a single paragraph before a shadow falls over the desk and a scent that's half tobacco and half mint hits her nostrils.

"What do you think you're doing, Fabray?" The Mack growls, taking a seat directly in front of Quinn.

She forces her eyes to stay on the page. "Reading."

The Mack spits her gum into her palm, slaps it onto the page, and presses the book closed. "I don't got that good of a memory, but I sure as _hell_ know I didn't say you could leave the Skanks."

Quinn clenches her jaw. "I can't do it anymore, okay?"

She scoffs and shakes her head. "I knew you were too much of a pussy to be one of us."

"Being one of you got me _assaulted_ the other day!" she snaps, her voice a harsh whisper.

The corners of her lips droop in a mock-sad face. "Aw, I'm sorry to hear that," she says like a mother talking to a child. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?" The Mack smirks. "Actually, you'd probably love that, wouldn't you?"

Quinn's insides turn to ice.

"Speaking of which…" she continues thoughtfully, "What d'you think is the fastest way to tell everyone about that?"

Her eyes start to burn. "Why are you doing this? What makes my life so much more worth ruining than everyone else's?"

The Mack's sneer deepens. "Like I said before. We keep the losers in their rightful place."

Before Quinn can say anything else the teacher in charge of their detention shushes them, and The Mack slinks back to her seat.

She stares down at her book for a long time, her mind suddenly overloading with all of the what-ifs that could result from The Mack outing her to the entire school. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and grabs her mp3 player from her bag. Once Quinn finds the song she wants she hits "repeat" and lets the familiar melody make everything else disappear.

_You're not alone, together we stand  
><em>_I'll be by your side  
><em>_You know I'll take your hand..._

* * *

><p>Rachel is waiting by her locker when detention finally ends and the sight of her instantly wipes away the pained frown that's been stuck on Quinn's face for an hour.<p>

"How'd it go?" she asks, though the fact that Rachel is all but bouncing on the balls of her feet kind of answers the question for her.

"It was phenomenal! Everybody loved it. Well, everyone but Finn. He spent most of the performance pouting in the corner, which I told him was quite idiotic since he is the one who broke up with _me_..."

Quinn's jaw drops a fraction. "You called Finn an idiot?" she asks, trying not to laugh.

She bites her lip. "I'd like to think of it as less of a derogatory term and more of a scientific classification based on proven facts."

At this, Quinn cracks up. "That sounds like something Santana would say if she spoke Rachel Berry," she says once she regains control of her lungs and Rachel blushes.

They walk to their cars together but Quinn heads home first to get some things, and she's turning the corner into her neighborhood when she realizes she hasn't been home in almost thirty-six hours. Her heart skips a beat and she wonders if her mom will be pissed, but then she remembers that her mom only gets mad when it has something to do with that pesky part of Quinn that shall never be named. She could probably get away with murder as long as the "g" word isn't involved.

Quinn slips through the front door and hears the TV in the living room, and for a split second she's overwhelmed with déjà vu, though this time she's in significantly less pain, at least. She sneaks up the stairs to her room so she can change into her own clothes and stuff some homework supplies into her bag. A thought drifts through her mind and she opens the bottom drawer of her desk, where her old camera stares back at her, dusty from lack of use. Quinn remembers all the afternoons she spent wandering around town, looking for uninteresting and unimportant things that she could give new life to with the press of a button.

Black-and-whites were her favorite. Most people assumed she loved color because of the bright dresses and cardigans she wore, but it was actually quite the opposite. Once you removed the color from the image there was nothing to distract you from the image itself, and the inherent beauty present in the simplest of things: a stack of books, an old shoe, a leaf on the ground.

Quinn took hundreds of photos during those brief months of creativity before being seduced by the Cheerios uniform and all the potential power that came with it. Her mom was thrilled when she announced her captaincy; not that she disapproved of the photography, per se, but a popular, athletic Fabray was so much better than an artistic Fabray. Her mom never said it, but she didn't have to, because her immediate enthusiasm about gym memberships and competition schedules was enough. Judy Fabray didn't smile like that over pictures of fences and swing sets. She smiled like that when her daughter became the most popular girl in school.

She sighs and closes the drawer. Quinn wonders how she would've turned out if she had parents like Hiram and Leroy, who foster the arts like they're a cure for cancer and do everything in their power to ensure their child's happiness. She wonders if she would be so afraid to be herself, both with her hobbies and… that other thing.

Quinn hooks the bag over her shoulder and makes her way back downstairs, curious if she can escape without her mom noticing. Her question is answered when she sees her standing in front of the bottom stair, her arms crossed as she looks up at her with eyes full of authority.

"Where have you been?" she asks, her tone even enough, but Quinn can sense the chaos beneath it.

She shrugs. "School and detention."

Her mom's lips tighten into a rigid line. "This isn't a joke, Quinnie. You can't just not come home."

Quinn can feel her eyebrows lift in disbelief. "Oh, so you care now?"

"I'm your mother," she gasps, "Of _course _I care! I was worried you'd gotten into an accident."

"That's funny, because two nights ago I was assaulted and you didn't give a damn about that."

"And whose fault was that?" she snaps and immediately covers her mouth with her hand, as if she didn't mean to say it aloud.

Quinn's eyes are glistening. She walks down the rest of the stairs and right past her mom without a word.

"Quinn—"

"Save it," she interrupts quietly as she reaches for the doorknob.

"Honey, please… I love—"

"You _love_ me?" she asks, cutting her off again. "I really want to believe that, Mom, but sometimes…" Quinn trails off and turns back to her mom, trying to keep her voice steady. "Rachel's dads took more care of me in the last twenty-four hours than you have in the _last_ _three months_. I'd never even _met_ them before and they managed to find it in their hearts to treat me like their own daughter."

Other than a slight quivering in the corner of her mouth, her mom's face remains expressionless. "You were with her?"

Quinn stares at her incredulously. "That's what you got from everything I just said?" She shakes her head and opens the door. "I have to go," she mutters, but her mom's hand on her wrist stops her.

"Are you going to see her?" she asks, and Quinn wishes she was imagining how terrified she sounds.

She yanks her arm from her mom's grasp. "I'll be back by curfew if that's what you're worried about," she replies flatly before closing the door in her face.

* * *

><p>Rachel opens the front door before Quinn can even knock.<p>

"I came up with a compromise," she says without preamble and Quinn follows her to the living room. Rachel picks up a DVD case from the coffee table and holds it up. "I stopped by the movie store on the way home."

Quinn reads the label. "_Paranormal Activity_? You hate scary movies."

"I do, but you love them. If you try one spoonful of each of the four flavors of vegan ice cream we have, I will watch this movie with you. And if you actually _like_ any of them..." She gulps. "I'll pull down the shades and turn off the lights while we watch it."

Quinn smirks. "You are _so_ on."

Rachel smiles nervously. "I was afraid you might say that."

They go into the kitchen and Rachel gets the ice cream from the freezer, then grabs four spoons and sticks one into each carton. Quinn examines the flavors and she's a little surprised by how normal they all are: vanilla, mint chocolate chip, strawberry, and coffee. She goes down the line, taking a bite of each kind, and Rachel claims a bittersweet victory when Quinn announces she likes them all.

"You're the one who came up with this brilliant plan," Quinn reminds her with a grin as they head back to the living room to start the movie. "Now you have to face the consequences."

Rachel huffs as she draws the shades. "You're going to face some consequences of your own, Quinn. When I get scared I always cling to the nearest object, which in this case is most likely going to be you."

Quinn shrugs. "Whatever. I'll just sit in the chair and you can have the couch." She laughs at Rachel's suddenly terrified expression. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," she says, smiling. "Don't worry, I'll protect you from the ghosts."

They take their seats, Quinn with a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream and Rachel clutching a pillow. The movie begins and she can feel Rachel already tensing, even though there's nothing even remotely scary about Katie and Micah's interactions so far.

"Did you hear that?" Rachel whispers during the first night scene, when there's a faint sound from downstairs, and Quinn wiggles her eyebrows. By the time Night #3 comes around Rachel is pressed up against her side and holding the pillow over her face so her eyes just barely peek over the top.

Just before the next big scare Quinn steals the remote and discreetly turns up the volume, so when a huge crash wakes up the characters, Rachel screams and curls into a ball in Quinn's lap, and she can feel the girl trembling.

"OhmyGodwhatisthatthingdon'tgodownstairswhycan'tweseeitohmyGodwhat'sitgoingtodo," Rachel mumbles into her hands as she peers at the screen through her fingers. Quinn just laughs softly and wraps her arm around Rachel's quivering form, where it stays for the rest of the movie.

When it's over Rachel sits up, takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. "Well, that wasn't so bad."

Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "Says the girl who was cowering in my lap the whole time. I'm pretty sure you screamed more than Katie did."

She blushes. "One time my dads tried to get me to watch _Halloween_ with them and I left the room twenty minutes in. So yes, this wasn't so bad." She smiles sheepishly. "Thank you for... you know... letting me watch the movie on top of you."

Quinn wants to make a joke or something but the subject suddenly reminds her of her nightmares, of Rachel holding her all night to make her feel safe, and the words die in her throat. "Thanks for last night," she says quietly. "For being there for me and everything."

Rachel nods. "To be honest, I was a little scared you would get mad at me for intruding, but I... I-I just couldn't bear to let you suffer like that." By the end of her sentence she's looking down at her lap, but Quinn can still see the intensity in her eyes.

"You're amazing, Rachel." The words slip out softly and without any voluntary action on her part, and her heart begins pounding in her chest when Rachel's gaze meets her own. She doesn't realize how close they've gotten until the front door opens.

"Hello, sweetie!" Leroy greets, and his smile shifts into a friendly smirk when he finally sees the two of them on the couch. "And Quinn! What a lovely surprise. Will you be staying for dinner again?"

"Uh," she says, glancing at Rachel, who nods.

"She'd love to," Rachel answers for her.

"Excellent. I'll make an extra helping, then." He departs with an expression on his face that almost reminds her of Santana's from earlier, and she looks at Rachel again and her hair is slightly mussed from curling up against Quinn during the movie and they really are too close together and the room is dark and it probably looked like—

Oh God.

"We should do some homework before dinner, yeah?" Quinn asks abruptly, getting off the couch and rifling through her bag for her calculus notebook.

Rachel agrees and they set up shop in the kitchen again, and Quinn tries extremely hard not to notice Mr. Berry's watchful eyes paying a lot more attention to her than they did yesterday.

* * *

><p>Quinn finally packs up around quarter of ten; she may be at odds with her mom but she fully intends to honor her curfew, and she doesn't want to keep Rachel up too late.<p>

Rachel walks her to the front door and they both pause, just like when Rachel was leaving Quinn's house a few days before. Rachel studies her for a moment, her eyes searching Quinn's for something as she nibbles her lip.

Quinn laughs. "You're not going to ask me for a hug again, are you? Because I think at this point you don't need—" She stops midsentence when Rachel stands on her tiptoes and kisses her on the cheek.

She smiles. "Goodnight, Quinn."

"Goodnight," she manages before heading to her car.

She drives home in somewhat of a daze, her cheek burning where Rachel's lips touched it, her blood roaring through her veins at one-hundred miles an hour. She arrives to find that her mom has already gone to bed and there's a note on the kitchen table saying there's chocolate cake in the fridge. It's signed "_Love, Mom_."

Quinn crumples the paper into a ball, tosses it in the trash, and goes up to her room. She changes into pajamas and crawls into bed, thinking about The Mack and Santana and Puck and Rachel and her mom. She falls asleep eventually, but not before kind of wishing that she was lying in Rachel's arms.

* * *

><p><strong>Songs used:<strong>

**"Gonna Get Over You" by Sara Bareilles  
>"Keep Holding On" by Avril Lavigne<strong>


	11. Reality

_**"This is the longest chapter so far," I said when I posted chapter 5.**_

_**"This is the longest chapter so far," I said when I posted chapters 6, 9, and 10.**_

_**"Jesus when did this become 13 pages long," I said as I finished writing this chapter.**_

* * *

><p><em>She's sitting on the couch with Rachel, their bodies close as they talk quietly, though she can't quite understand the words. Someone cackles with laughter and Quinn looks up to see The Mack sitting in the armchair a few feet away, watching TV. She follows the girl's gaze to the screen, where security camera footage of Quinn being attacked is playing.<em>

_She glares at The Mack. "It's not funny!"_

_The Skank just laughs harder. "It's your fault you're such an easy target."_

_Quinn frowns and pulls up her shirt, gasping when she finds a bright red target tattoo covering her torso._

_Her mom suddenly storms into the room. "Lucy Quinn Fabray, that is _not_ permitted in this family!" she shouts, then points at the front door. "Get out of my house."_

_Quinn grabs Rachel's hand and heads outside, only to be faced with the entire McKinley student body. The people in the front of the group are all holding slushies; they draw their cups back and fling the icy liquid straight at them..._

Quinn's alarm yanks her into consciousness. She rests her hand on her ribs, which are still sore but getting better, and sighs. She definitely prefers a weird dream over another nightmare but this one leaves her a little uneasy regardless.

She does her morning routine (admittedly, she checks herself in the mirror before she gets in the shower to make sure there isn't a target tattoo anywhere), packs up her schoolwork, and is about to head downstairs when she pauses. Quinn stares at that desk drawer, where her old Nikon is nestled among the junk, and finally throws the camera in her bag too.

* * *

><p>During their lunch in the choir room, Quinn dodges another speech about the benefits of veganism by launching them into a discussion of Rachel's other favorite subject: music. They talk about their favorite bands, their favorite songs, whether good lyrics are more important than a catchy melody, and whether the Black Eyed Peas are a legitimate musical group or not (they agree on "not"). The discussion gets particularly heated when they argue about acoustic songs versus full band songs and which arrangement conveys more emotion; Quinn goes with acoustic ("'Wonderwall' by Oasis...'Time to Mend' by Barcelona...'How to Save a Life' with just a guitar...It doesn't get any more raw than that.") while Rachel insists the opposite ("Some of the most famous songs of all time wouldn't be nearly as powerful if not for their full use of instruments. 'Don't Rain on My Parade' deserves a complete musical accompaniment!").<p>

They sit next to each other in English again and then Rachel walks her to the detention room. Quinn stops them several yards short of the door because something in her gut doesn't want The Mack to see her interacting with Rachel, even if they're just talking.

"I'll see you in an hour," Rachel says before heading off to glee club, and as Quinn walks into the room, she has to remember to dim her smile before The Mack can make any snide comments about it.

The Skank takes her by surprise, however, when they make brief eye contact and she just smiles sweetly at Quinn before looking away. The girl's inaction almost scares her more than anything she could've said to her, but she decides to be grateful for the lack of conflict as she settles into the same desk as yesterday.

About halfway through detention, Jacob Ben Israel comes bustling in to hand a note to the teacher, who glances at it briefly.

"Quinn Fabray?"

Her head snaps up from the math assignment she's working on. He waves the piece of paper in her direction so she goes up to his desk and takes it; it's a note for her to go to the principal's office after detention. She arches an eyebrow in confusion, wondering what she could've possibly done wrong now.

It seems like an eternity before the teacher finally dismisses them. As Quinn takes off down the hall she hopes that whatever they need her for in the office won't take long, because even though she saw Rachel an hour ago she doesn't like that something is delaying her from being reunited with her again.

She reaches Figgins's office and freezes when she sees her mom sitting on a chair inside; this is _not_ what she was expecting. Quinn shakes her head and walks away, but her mom looks up just in time to notice her before she disappears from the doorway.

"Quinn!" her mom calls out, but she doesn't slow down. "Honey, please!"

She can hear high-heeled footsteps hurriedly following her down the empty hallway, and as much as she wants to ignore them and go meet Rachel and get out of here, she sighs and turns abruptly. "Why are you here?" she demands.

Quinn's tone seems to catch her off-guard. "I—I had no idea when you'd come home... this was the only way I knew to find you." She hesitates. "I wanted to talk to you about last night."

She smiles bitterly. "You want to talk about last night? Okay, let's talk about how you basically told me that those guys attacking me was my fault. What the _hell_ kind of mother tells her daughter that?"

"I know I shouldn't have said that—"

"But you did, Mom. You can't take it back."

Her mom looks close to tears. "Quinnie... I'm so sorry. I love you and—"

"No, you don't. You love certain _parts_ of me. You love me when I'm pretty and when I'm a cheerleader and when I'm popular, but..." She shakes her head slowly. "You don't love _all _of me," she finishes, and her voice cracks.

Her mom looks horrified. "Of course I do, Quinn! Everything I've done is _because_ I love you."

Quinn lets out a single laugh. "Is that what Dad told you to say?"

She doesn't respond.

"I'm glad we had this talk." She turns and heads for her locker, and when she rounds the corner, she finds Rachel waiting with a miserable look on her face.

She heard everything.

Neither of them says a word as Quinn twirls her combination and opens the door. She grabs what she needs and slams it closed just as her mom's voice echoes down the hallway again.

"Quinn..." she starts, but then her eyes lock with Rachel's and she falls silent.

She can't even begin to try to figure out the emotions that pass over her mom's face, and Rachel's remains strangely blank, something Quinn has never seen before. "Ready?" she asks once she has what she needs; Rachel nods and they leave without looking back.

They don't talk on the way to the parking lot and Quinn doesn't feel the need to tell her she'll follow Rachel home. Fifteen minutes later they're walking in the front door and Quinn sinks into the couch in the living room, Rachel joining her shortly after. She leans over and lets her head fall onto Rachel's shoulder, and for a long time, they both just sit there listening to each other breathe.

"It wasn't your fault," Rachel says, brushing her fingertips up and down the inside of Quinn's wrist.

She closes her eyes as Rachel's touches send warm tingles along her arm. "I know."

Rachel sighs. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"I really wanted to punch her in the face."

Quinn can't hold in her snort. "I never pegged you for a violent person."

She feels the other girl shrug. "I can be provoked under the correct circumstances."

That makes Quinn smile. "Remind me never to make you angry." She opens her eyes when the last word leaves her lips; she's suddenly remembering all the names she's called Rachel and the slushies she's ordered and that slap in the bathroom at prom and how, miraculously, Rachel never seemed to get mad at her.

"What are you thinking about?" Rachel asks softly after a minute.

She nibbles her lip. "Why didn't you ever get mad at me?"

"For what?"

"The names. The slushies. The stuff with Finn. I mean... I know those things upset you… but you never got _angry_. Why?"

Rachel exhales slowly. "At school you always presented yourself as this perfect person, and you did everything you could to point out everyone else's imperfections," she begins, and Quinn wonders what "imperfections" she ever saw in this girl. "But I chose to believe that that wasn't the real you. _This_ you." At her emphasized word her fingers wander up to Quinn's palm and her own fingers twitch in response. "And I had this theory that if I was patient and I just waited long enough, I'd get to meet _you_ eventually."

Quinn doesn't know what to say.

"I did get mad at you, though. Just once."

She sits up now so she can look at Rachel, whose eyes are on her hand and Quinn's arm.

"It was that day we met in the auditorium to work on the song, when you said I didn't belong with Finn, or in Lima. Because those things you were saying about me... they were all things I could have said right back to you." Now she locks gazes with Quinn. "You were so determined to remind me of my potential but you never once mentioned your own. You're better than you know, Quinn, and you're just as capable of getting out of here as I am."

She searches the Rachel's eyes and finds nothing but sincerity, confidence, and compassion. Before she can stop herself, she leans over and kisses Rachel softly on the cheek. The girl's fingers still on her wrist and Quinn shifts her arm until their hands are joined.

"Come on," she says, rising from the couch and pulling Rachel up with her. "I want to try something." Quinn leads her to the basement door, grabbing her bag on the way, and they head downstairs to the finished room that she's only been in once before. She sets down her bag and begins rummaging through it.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asks, and she actually sounds a little nervous.

Quinn finds her camera and holds it up. "I'm gonna take pictures."

"Of what?"

"You singing."

Rachel is staring at her like she's crazy. "Why?"

The corner of Quinn's mouth lifts into a small smile. "I'm feeling inspired." She takes the cap off the lens and turns on the camera. "Come on, get up there," she says, nodding her head toward the stage.

Rachel bites her lip. "I-I don't have anything prepared..."

"You're Rachel Berry, you always have something prepared." Quinn watches her cheeks flare red as she fiddles with the hem of her skirt. "Since when are you camera shy?"

Her blush deepens. "It's never been you behind the camera before."

Quinn can't resist bringing the Nikon to her eye and snapping a quick photo. Rachel looks up in surprise and eyes the camera warily. "It's just me, Rach. Please?"

Rachel deliberates for another moment before a smile finally spreads across her face. "I suppose it never hurts to get in some... extra, _extra_ practice," she says as she approaches the stage. "What song would you like?"

"Doesn't matter."

Rachel studies the karaoke machine, presses a few buttons, and the intro to "Defying Gravity" begins to play.

Quinn smirks. "Of course."

She gasps indignantly. "Don't you _dare_ mock _Wicked_."

Quinn just laughs and takes another picture. "I would never."

Rachel looks like she's about to say more but then she hears her cue from the karaoke machine and immediately jumps into the first verse.

Quinn sits on the floor to the side of the stage with her back against the wall, her camera practically glued to her face as she takes shot after shot. Going into the second verse Rachel seems to forget that Quinn is even there; she grabs the microphone and raises her voice, giving it her all even though once again, Quinn is her only audience.

During the final stretch she hits the high notes with an effortlessness that doesn't surprise Quinn in the least but still manages to make something flutter down near her stomach. She smiles as Rachel catches her breath for a moment before turning to her.

"How was that?" she asks, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Amazing," Quinn replies, grinning. "But..." She lets the word hang and Rachel's smile falters. "I still have a lot of film left."

She considers Quinn's statement and nibbles her lip shyly. "I could sing another one?"

"Sounds good to me." She goes to the other side of the room so she can get a different angle and chuckles to herself when Rachel selects "Don't Rain on My Parade." For the next few minutes the room is filled to the brim with Rachel's voice and the clicking sounds coming from Quinn's camera.

When the song ends she glances at the little circle that tells her how many pictures she has left and frowns slightly at the small "1". Maybe she should've paced herself a bit more.

"One more?" Rachel asks.

Quinn nods absentmindedly, wondering what the final photo should be, and she doesn't realize that Rachel thought she meant one more _song _until the guitar melody starts floating from the speakers. Her stomach lurches because she knows this song very well—it's one she distinctly remembers Rachel singing to _Finn_.

Rachel looks nervous as she waits for the intro to pass, and when she begins, her voice doesn't seem nearly as confident as it did for the other songs.

_When I was younger I saw my daddy cry  
><em>_And curse at the wind  
><em>_He broke his own heart and I watched  
><em>_As he tried to reassemble it  
><em>_And my momma swore  
><em>_That she would never let herself forget  
><em>_And that was the day that I promised  
><em>_I'd never sing of love if it does not exist_

So far Rachel's gaze has remained on the floor, but as Quinn sinks into a chair that faces the stage head-on, Rachel suddenly looks her straight in the eye.

_But darling, you are the only exception  
><em>_You are the only exception  
><em>_You are the only exception  
><em>_You are the only exception_

Quinn swallows, practically disintegrating under the girl's direct gaze.

_Well maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul  
><em>_That love never lasts  
><em>_And we've got to find other ways  
><em>_To make it alone, or keep a straight face  
><em>_And I've always lived like this  
><em>_Keeping a comfortable distance  
><em>_And up until now I had sworn to myself  
><em>_That I'm content with loneliness  
><em>_Because none if it was ever worth the risk_

Her camera lays forgotten in her lap. She's not even sure if she's blinking; she can't bear to move her eyes because as Rachel repeats the chorus she's giving her this _look_ that makes it feel like her heart's on fire, like her entire body is on fire.

_I've got a tight grip on reality  
><em>_But I can't let go of what's in front of me here  
><em>_I know you're leaving in the morning  
><em>_When you wake up  
><em>_Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream_

Rachel's eyes are still glued to hers as she sings the chorus again quietly, her head tilted down a little so she's looking up at her through her long eyelashes.

_You are the only exception  
><em>_You are the only exception  
><em>_You are the only exception  
><em>_And I'm on my way to believing  
><em>_Oh, and I'm on my way to believing_

The final chord is strummed and the music fades and Rachel looks at her for a moment longer before finally dropping her gaze, her cheeks flushed.

Quinn brings the camera up to her face, focuses, and presses the button. The gentle _click_ snaps Rachel out of her reverie and she slips the microphone back into its stand. She steps down from the stage, clears her throat and clasps her hands behind her back.

"Done?" she asks quietly.

It takes a second for Quinn to find her voice. "Yeah," she breathes, "No more film." Her eyes drop to where Rachel is biting her lip, but then she's not biting her lip anymore and Quinn is just staring at her mouth. It takes every ounce of her self-control to finally look away and she busies herself with replacing the lens cover and putting the camera back in her bag.

They go back upstairs and spend the rest of the evening doing homework while Quinn tries to keep her gaze from drifting to Rachel's lips every thirty seconds. This proves most difficult when she's about to leave and Rachel leans in for another goodnight kiss on the cheek, and Quinn has to stay still as a statue so she doesn't turn her head a few inches to connect their mouths instead.

Rachel's mouth lingers just long enough to breathe a hot puff of air gently against her ear and Quinn's eyes nearly roll back into her head as she tries not to pass out from the sensation.

It's a miracle she doesn't crash on the way home.

* * *

><p>Quinn goes into school an hour early the next morning and is relieved to find the door to the photography club's darkroom unlocked. She lets herself in and as she begins, she's surprised at how much she still remembers from freshman year; her fingers work the film through each procedure like it's all muscle memory, forever ingrained in her mind. She works quickly and is about halfway done when she checks her watch and realizes it's almost time to meet Rachel.<p>

She hangs up the pictures to dry and heads to her locker, getting there before Rachel for the first time since they began this routine, and she smirks in anticipation of Rachel's reaction to seeing her there already.

Sure enough, Rachel shows up ten minutes later, and her smile tightens ever so slightly.

"I thought I'd beat you just this once," Quinn says when she reaches her, and she almost feels bad about how truly irked she looks. "Okay, I'm sorry. I promise to always let you win from now on."

Rachel waits a beat before lapsing into a fit of giggles. "I was only pretending to be upset. I'm told I have very impressing acting skills, especially when only using facial expressions."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Like it's hard for you to pretend you're pissed about losing."

Rachel's eyebrows pull together and she looks up at her in this way that makes Quinn want to crawl into a hole and die.

"Rach, I was just kidding," she says gently. "You're an incredible actress."

Rachel stares at her for a moment longer and suddenly there's a sly grin on her face. "I know."

"God, _really_?" Quinn shakes her head but she can't help laughing. This girl is going to give her a heart attack one day. She opens her locker and grabs the notebooks she needs. "Listen, there's something I have to do during lunch today so I won't be able to eat with you."

To her credit, Rachel manages to only look a little disappointed. "Oh. O-okay. I'll see you in English, then."

Quinn kind of wants to kiss her on the cheek to cheer her up but then she remembers they're at school and she resists the urge. However, that doesn't stop her gaze from lingering on Rachel as she turns and walks to her class.

The day goes by agonizingly slowly. Quinn spends every class itching to get back to the darkroom so she can finish developing her photos, and when the bell rings to signal she's free to go to lunch, she all but bolts from the classroom and down the hallway to her destination.

She works nonstop for the entire period, ignoring her grumbling stomach as she watches each image appear, and even in the dim red lighting, black-and-white Rachel looks incredible. She wouldn't even know that the pictures were taken in the girl's basement if she hadn't shot them herself.

Finally Quinn emerges from the dark with the pile of photos in her hand. She's dying to look at them now that she can see properly, but she decides she'll wait until she shows Rachel to see them for herself. She slips them into her bag and heads to English, smiling when she finds Rachel at her desk already.

"I see you survived your lunch without me," she jokes, sliding into her own seat.

Rachel sighs. "Barely. Brad's piano playing was excellent as usual, but he's not exactly the most... _enthusiastic_ audience member."

Quinn laughs. "Awww, you missed me?"

Rachel blushes and tucks her hair behind her ear. "I suppose you could say that."

They talk a bit more before class starts but even when it does, Quinn doesn't pay much attention. Missing lunch has apparently given her Rachel withdrawal and she finds herself unable to stop looking at her. She tries to be as discreet as possible—using her peripheral vision, scratching an imaginary itch so she has an excuse to turn her head, pretending to glance out the window—and she has no idea if it's working but she doesn't care because Rachel's drawing little stars in the margins of her notebook and Quinn watches her with an intensity that rivals Sam's when he found a _Star Trek_ marathon on TV one night.

By the end of the period she hasn't heard a word about the struggles of the protagonist in their book, but she knows that there are twenty-six stars on that piece of notebook paper.

* * *

><p>That afternoon they end up in Rachel's bedroom, where she immediately boots up her laptop. "I've compiled a playlist of songs that I'm certain will convince you once and for all that heavy instrumentation packs a more significant emotional punch than unplugged arrangements," she announces in a rush as she opens her music library.<p>

Quinn just takes a seat on the bed and pulls out the photographs, then spreads them out over the quilt as she waits for Rachel to notice them.

"Now, I would like you to pay special attention to this particular track, because although it's mostly acoustic, there is a spectacular buildup during the bridge that leads to an extremely impressive musical climax—" She stops in mid-sentence and a quiet gasp falls from her lips; Quinn doesn't look up and simply continues to lay out the pictures as she tries to hide her smile.

Rachel rounds the bed slowly and sits beside Quinn, her wide eyes never leaving the pictures, and her mouth is hanging open a little. Quinn takes the opportunity to finally look at the pictures herself. Some show Rachel gazing into the distance while in others she's staring right at the camera, but every single one conveys nothing but fiery passion.

Quinn's eyes drift from photo to photo—one that shows only Rachel's profile as she stands calmly in front of the microphone, one where her eyes are shut tightly as she belts out a high notes—but then one in particular nearly makes her heart stop. It's the last one she took, right after Rachel sang "The Only Exception;" she's looking down shyly, one hand still gripping the microphone on its stand, but even without the color, she's positively _glowing_.

"Quinn," the brunette breathes. "These are... these are _breathtaking_."

She looks at her and licks her lips. "No, Rach. These are just pictures. _You're_ breathtaking."

Their eyes connect and suddenly Quinn can't move, except she can, because she's somehow getting closer to Rachel.

"Nobody's ever said that to me before," Rachel whispers, and for the first time, Quinn notices Rachel's gaze dropping to her own mouth.

As the space between them gets smaller and smaller and Quinn's pulse roars through her ears and her heartbeat escalates into something reminiscent of African war drums, she wonders if this is what it's like to have a stroke.

But then there's no more space and Rachel's lips are _right there_, pressing gently against hers, and she's imagined this so many times in her head but now it's happening and it's real and _God_, she tastes so good.

They slowly pull apart, though not by much; Quinn can feel Rachel's hot puffs of breath against her mouth as she stares into her cautious but determined eyes.

When Rachel begins to lean in again, several things happen at once. Quinn sees her mom's judgmental looks; she hears those guys calling her names and telling her to kill herself and feels the hard soles of their shoes pounding against her body; she remembers the way her dad stared so coldly at her just because she wasn't the perfect girl he wanted her to be.

She pulls away before their lips can meet again, and the self-doubt that flashes brutally over Rachel's face is almost as awful as the hurt she sees underneath it.

"Quinn..." she whispers, almost pleadingly.

There are so many things she wants to say, if only her voice would work. She wants to explain that she never thought her feelings for Rachel could be mutual. She wants to explain that she could tell a thousand people that she's gay but actually acting on those desires and being with a girl would make it _real_ and she doesn't know if she's ready for that. She wants to explain how fucking terrified she is of Rachel, of how she feels, of herself.

Quinn wants to explain all of this, but what comes out is a very small and shaky "I can't."

Rachel deflates. She suddenly looks so small, and her eyebrows pull together and the beginnings of tears are swimming in front of her irises. "I thought..." she starts, her voice quiet as she keeps her gaze pointed down. "I thought you wanted me."

Quinn's own eyes are burning with moisture. "Rachel," she chokes through the lump in her throat, "I do. _God_, I do. I just..."

Rachel locks gazes with her now. "You just what?" she asks thickly, like her vocal cords aren't working right.

A single tear falls down Quinn's cheek. "I'm scared," she whispers, "I'm so fucking scared."

Rachel is looking at her intently. "You have feelings for me," she says, not accusingly, but like she wants confirmation.

"Yes," Quinn breathes after a beat. "Rachel, I wish this was simple and I could... we could just... but it's _not_. I can't—"

"You _won't_," she interrupts, so quietly that Quinn almost doesn't hear her. When Quinn says nothing, she continues. "You could, Quinn. You could ignore what everyone wants you to want and do what _you_ want. I know you're brave enough. And I know _I_ could be brave enough, if you were right there with me. But this," she says, and her voice shakes just a little, "This isn't fair."

Quinn is barely breathing. "What are you talking about?"

Rachel lets out a sharp sigh. "You can't tell me you have feelings... you can't _kiss_ me a-and then say this is too complicated. It's like you're dangling all if it in front of my face, but I can't reach out and grab it." Her eyes are brimming with frustrated tears. "It's not fair."

"Rachel, please..."

"Look, I understand why you're scared. And believe me, I am too. But I can't ignore the way I feel anymore. I-I don't _want_ to." She blinks and a tear falls from one eye and then the other. "Quinn, you can pretend and deny if you want, but... I won't sit here and do the same."

Quinn feels something inside her breaking, because she knows what Rachel is going to say next before the words even come out.

"I need you to leave." She says it so softly, and with a calmness that doesn't match the rest of the conversation, and she's not looking her in the eye anymore.

Quinn doesn't move.

Rachel wipes the dampness from her cheeks as she continues to avert her gaze. "Please. I just—I need to think."

She's still frozen, still trying to process how she's managed to screw this all up.

"Quinn!" she snaps, and she flinches because she's never heard Rachel raise her voice like this before. "Please, you need to go."

She doesn't know how she finally gets her body to move because she's completely numb, but then again, she's always been very good at being on autopilot. She manages to get down the stairs and out the door and to her car before she feels her control slipping, but she holds it together as she floors it home and doesn't let a single tear fall until she closes her bedroom door behind her.

Quinn sits on the floor with her back against the side of her bed, bringing her knees up and then wrapping her arms around her legs. She sits there in the quiet, trails of moisture silently making their way down her cheeks, and she thinks.

She thinks about how she went from really wanting to kiss Rachel to actually _kissing_ Rachel, how it went from a really good idea to a really bad idea, and how her brain started off so gung-ho only to slam on the brakes. She thinks about how hopeful and daring Rachel looked right before their lips met, and how dejected she looked after Quinn stopped the second kiss from happening.

Quinn honestly never considered the idea that she could actually _be with_ Rachel. She'd gotten so used to her rules: she's gay, Rachel is straight, Rachel cares about her but not in that way, and all these things that they've been doing are friendly things that lots of people do with each other. Always spending time together, deeply honest conversations, absentminded touches and caresses, trying not to stare at each other's lips...

God, she's an idiot. Why didn't she pay more attention to what Rachel was giving her instead of blinding herself to those things because she was so convinced she couldn't have them? She was so busy living in her own little world of Never Going To Happen that she didn't understand that it _was_ happening, right in front of her.

And then she had to chicken out. She had to let them have a taste of what could be, and then say it couldn't be. They can't, _she_ can't, because she was born into a homophobic family and she goes to a homophobic school in a homophobic town and she's already been ostracized once by all of the above and she doesn't think she can go through that again. So she just has to keep pretending everything's normal, that _she's_ normal, that she's not in lo—

Quinn blinks as the thought slams into her like a freight train. No. God, no. She's not. There's no way.

And yet even as these words of denial pop up over and over, she knows it's true. The phrase just feels _right_, even more so when she tacks Rachel's name at the end, and she's about to smile at the realization but then she remembers what just happened and a wave of frustration crushes her.

"_I need to think_," Rachel said before she kicked Quinn out. What does she need to think about? Is she trying to figure out what she did wrong, even though it's Quinn who messed everything up? Is she mentally preparing herself to give her space so Quinn doesn't panic again? Is she rethinking their entire relationship?

Quinn tilts her head back and looks up to the ceiling, trying to find answers in the generic white paint as her cheeks grow wetter and wetter.

* * *

><p>She sits there for a little over an hour, sifting through excuses and justifications that she knows are complete crap, before finally picking herself up off the floor and going downstairs.<p>

Her mom isn't around—probably because she assumed Quinn wouldn't be around—but she still feels the need to be quiet as she gets herself a glass of water and takes a seat at the kitchen table. She munches on an ice cube, staring into space while she replays her and Rachel's last conversation in her head over and over again. She didn't mean to make her so upset, but the kiss was just so... unexpected, and its implications caught her off-guard and she let her crippling fear of being abnormal get the best of her. She let herself be scared enough of what people would say and do that she let down the one person who was nothing less than saintly to her.

But could anyone really blame her for that? Is it not okay to want to be loved, to live your life without being judged, to not be hated by people who don't even know you? She knows she probably could've handled the situation better, or at least attempted to be a bit more eloquent about explaining her side of things, but when it comes to Rachel her brain tends to not function properly. She could argue that it's Rachel's fault, really, because whenever she looks into those endless brown eyes she just _loses_ it—her ability to breathe, to speak coherently, to think about anything except how much it terrifies her that she loves this girl.

Instead of telling her all of this, though, all she said was "I can't" and then everything went down the drain.

Quinn groans at her own idiocy and rubs her eyes hard. When she opens them and refocuses, she sees the piano staring at her from the living room; only the last few high keys are visible, but it taunts her nonetheless. She glares at it even as she rises from her seat and approaches the antique wooden bench, as she sits down, as she lays her fingers against the old ivory.

She plays the first chord that comes to mind and the sound fills the empty house. She plays another and suddenly a song is in her head; she continues the chord progression without singing, but soon the words are itching to get out. Quinn takes a deep breath and when she begins, her voice is barely a murmur.

_Please don't let this turn into something it's not  
><em>_I can only give you everything I've got  
><em>_And I can't be as sorry as you think I should  
><em>_But I still love you more than anyone else could_

Tears jump to her eyes at the fourth line and threaten to spill over, but she ignores them.

_All that I keep thinking throughout this whole flight  
><em>_Is it could take my whole damn life to make this right  
><em>_This splintered mast I'm holding on won't save me long  
><em>_Because I know fine well that what I did was wrong_

She wonders what Rachel is doing right now.

_The last girl and the last reason  
><em>_To make this last for as long as I could  
><em>_First kiss and the first time  
><em>_That I felt connected to anything  
><em>_The weight of water, the way you taught me  
><em>_To look past everything I had ever learned  
><em>_The final word in the final sentence  
><em>_You ever uttered to me was love_

As Quinn makes her way through the second verse and chorus she grows angrier and angrier at herself. She should be with Rachel right now, talking or laughing or doing homework with her or just savoring the feeling of being and the same room with her. She misses her so much already, and it's all Quinn's fault.

_The last girl and the last reason  
><em>_To make this last for as long as I could  
><em>_First kiss and the first time  
><em>_That I felt connected to anything  
><em>_The weight of water, the way you taught me  
><em>_To look past everything I had ever learned  
><em>_The final word in the final sentence  
><em>_You ever uttered to me was love_

She's almost out of breath when she finishes the final chorus and she steadies her lungs as she begins the closing melody.

_And I don't know where to look  
><em>_My words just break and melt  
><em>_Please just save me from this darkness  
><em>_Please just save me from this darkness  
><em>_And I don't know where to look  
><em>_My words just break and melt  
><em>_Please just save me from this darkness  
><em>_Please just save me from this darkness_

The last three key strokes are half-hearted. She's still as the note slowly fades into silence, a silence that is soon shattered by the front door opening. Quinn scrambles to get off the bench and cringes when she hears her mom's surprised voice.

"Quinn... you're home."

She turns to face her mom, whose arms are full of groceries. "Yeah. I'm here."

She eyes the piano. "Were you playing something, honey?"

"Uh... no, I was just—it was nothing."

Her mom nods slowly. "Are you going to be here for dinner?" The hope in her voice makes Quinn want to laugh, or possibly cry. Is this really the state their relationship is in now, a mother having no idea if her daughter will be eating at home that night?

"Yeah," she says again.

There's a flicker of concern in her mom's eyes and for a moment Quinn wonders if she knows that something's wrong, but then the look is gone and she's smiling pleasantly. "Wonderful! I'm making chicken casserole tonight so I hope you're hungry." She departs to the kitchen with her plastic bags and Quinn doesn't understand how she can act like everything is okay between them when it's not.

Actually, that's probably why she's so good at it herself. Or, at least, she used to be, before she started spending all this time with Rachel and became an open book.

God, Rachel.

Quinn retreats to her room again to attempt finishing some homework but ends up staring blankly down at her notes while her eyes yearn for their favorite brown hair and chocolate eyes and argyle clothing (it suits her, okay?). She's not even aware of how much time is passing until her mom calls her down to eat.

Like always, her mom has set their places the same way as when her dad was around, and as they take their seats across from each other, Quinn wonders why her mom insists on keeping things the same in his absence.

The meal starts off in silence. Her mom eats quietly while Quinn picks at her food, taking an occasional bite but mostly just pushing things around her plate. It strikes her how different this is from dinner with the Berrys, where there's laughter and interesting stories and this amazing _family_ vibe. Dinner at the Fabray house tends to have small talk at best, and her mom can't even seem to pull that off tonight.

"Quinnie?"

She looks up abruptly to see her mom peering at her from across the table. "Yeah?"

"Is everything okay? You seem a bit... off."

Quinn shrugs. "I'm fine," she mutters, but then she remembers when Rachel asked her if she was hurt and she said those exact two words and she remembers the way Rachel looked at her and then her eyes are burning and the hand holding her fork is shaking.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" her mom asks, and she sounds so legitimately concerned that the tears overflow.

She sniffs and looks up to meet her mom's eyes, and even though her heart is pounding in her chest because she knows this could be a huge mistake, she lets the words come out. "I kissed her," she whispers through the lump in her throat. "I kissed Rachel. And then she tried to kiss _me_, and..." She swallows. "And I pushed her away." Quinn ignores the shock on her mom's face. "I shouldn't have pushed her away. I-I didn't want to. But I was so scared of what people would think... and I hate myself for it."

"Quinn—"

"Because I'm in love with her, and she doesn't know, and now I screwed everything up and I have no idea how to fix it." Her bottom lip is trembling and a tear spills down her cheek as she finally refocuses on her mom.

She's silent for a very long moment as she studies the food on her plate, and she straightens her posture before clearing her throat. "Well, it's... it's probably for the best, Quinnie. You had your time to... _explore_," she says carefully, "and now you can... move on." She smiles like Quinn is a second grader crying about a boy being mean to her.

Quinn shakes her head. "It's not that easy, Mom. I can't just—" But then she understands the deeper meaning behind her mom's words. She doesn't mean moving on from Rachel. She means moving on _completely_. She feels her face turn to stone as she blinks away the last of her tears.

"Honey, I know high school feels like the most important time in your life, but most of the things that happen are going to be insignificant in the long-run. Everybody goes through a few detours along the way... but you're going to graduate and go to college and marry a wonderful man—"

"Mom, you don't _get_ it!" Quinn bursts, her voice just below a shout. She has a mouthful of words ready to explain just how much she doesn't get it, but when she sees her mom's now carefully neutral expression and rigid posture, she decides not to waste her breath. She lets her fork clatter to the table and stands up.

"Aren't you going to finish your dinner?" her mom asks weakly.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she mutters before storming out of the room, back upstairs, and slamming her door.

* * *

><p>Quinn stares up into the pitch darkness of her bedroom ceiling, willing herself to go to sleep for the millionth time since she crawled under the covers two hours ago, but her brain is having none of it. Every thought that drifts through her head has something to do with Rachel—how much she misses her voice, her smile, and the goodnight kiss on the cheek she didn't get.<p>

She rolls over again and wonders what would've happened if she stayed, if she didn't freak out and bring everything to a screeching halt. She wonders if her goodnight still would've been on her cheek. If it would've been on her mouth instead.

Her night feels incomplete.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, I recycled "The Only Exception." But if we're being honest here, they completely wasted that on Finn when it's a Faberry song, goddamnit.<strong>

**Songs used/mentioned:  
>-"Wonderwall" by Oasis<br>****-"Time to Mend" by Barcelona -THIS SONG. LISTEN TO THIS SONG. I HAD IT ON REPEAT WHILE WRITING THIS CHAPTER. LISTENNNN.  
><strong>**-"How to Save a Life" by The Fray  
>-"Defying Gravity" from <em>Wicked<em>  
><strong>**-"Don't Rain on My Parade" from _Funny Girl_  
>-"The Only Exception" by Paramore<br>****-"Make This Go On Forever" by Snow Patrol**

**Also, I wrote the entire kiss scene on my iPod. 756 words, guys. It was an adventure.**


	12. Control

**Quinn/Puck dialogue is my new favorite thing.**

* * *

><p>There's a whole five seconds after Quinn wakes up where she smiles and her heart speeds up because she gets to see Rachel soon, but then she remembers everything that happened yesterday and suddenly she has a lot less motivation to get out of bed.<p>

She sighs and heaves herself off the mattress anyway; she's never been one to wallow after kissing the girl she's in love with and then breaking her heart in the span of about ten seconds. You know, because she's gone through this a million times before.

Quinn wishes she could talk to somebody about everything but she doesn't even know where to start. Her first thought is Rachel—duh—but she can't exactly do that when Rachel is part of what she needs to figure out. She considers Santana, who can be testy but has a heart of gold when it really matters, but she's not sure she's ready for the girl's inevitable snide comments about her wholesome-Christian-turned-lesbian-sinner best friend. There's also Puck, but he would probably just start imagining a threesome and the conversation would go nowhere. And her mom… well, it's her mom.

As she showers she suddenly hates the smell of her citrus shampoo; it's too sharp, too harsh, and her nose longs for a softer scent. Quinn squeezes her eyes shut and scrubs her scalp with more force than necessary, but she can't stop the word _strawberry_ from echoing through her head.

"Stop being pathetic," she mutters to herself even as she tries to remember the feeling of Rachel's hand, her hair, her lips, and she has no idea how she's going to make it through school without her.

* * *

><p>It shouldn't hurt that she can't park next to Rachel's car in the lot, or that Rachel isn't waiting at Quinn's locker, or that she doesn't see her between classes—because honestly, what else did she expect—but it does, and it sucks.<p>

What's even worse is knowing that lunch with Rachel in the choir room, which has become her favorite part of the day, isn't going to happen. The thought curls up in the back of her mind, never quite leaving her alone as she sits through each period, and by the time twelve-fifteen rolls around, she has never hated these forty-five minutes of freedom more than she does now.

Quinn takes her time walking to the cafeteria; she keeps hoping Rachel will appear out of nowhere and whisk her off to the choir room and they can hang out and be happy like yesterday didn't happen, but then she arrives at the lunchroom and has to face reality.

It takes her a full ten minutes of standing in line to get a crappy pre-made salad, and when she finally turns to face the room, it's the first time in her high school career that she has no idea where to sit. She spots Artie, Mercedes, and Tina at a table but she hasn't spoken to any of them in months, so she's not sure what they think of her at this point. The Skanks are sitting in the back corner, but she would only walk over there if she had a death wish. She feels kind of like Cady from _Mean Girls_, standing in the middle of the chaos, observing the different groups and cliques. Where does she fit in?

"Hey, Q."

The voice calls out to her and she sees Santana looking her way from her seat next to Brittany at the end of the Cheerios table.

Quinn hesitates before heading toward them, and she's not quite sure when she got so nervous about interacting with her oldest friends. She stops a foot away from the table. "Hey."

Brittany smiles. "You should sit with us."

Quinn glances at Santana, who doesn't object, so she takes a seat across from the pair and begins picking at her salad.

"Why the long face?" Santana asks, her tone strangely pleasant.

Brittany frowns. "I don't think her face is long, San." She tilts her head a little. "You do look kind of sad though."

Quinn shrugs. "I'm fine."

Santana cocks an eyebrow. "Berry was talking about you in homeroom this morning," she says abruptly.

Quinn almost swallows a cherry tomato whole. "S-she was? What did she say?"

The girl smirks. "Please, like I talk to her in homeroom. I just wanted to see if you'd react exactly the way you just reacted."

Her cheeks burn and her grip tightens around her plastic fork. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Santana rolls her eyes. "You used to be a way better liar. Fess up, Q. You and the hobbit—"

"Don't call her that."

"—have been all Willow-and-Tara all week. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Quinn takes a deep breath and meets Santana's eyes. "What's your point?"

"My point is that Berry's been moping around all day and she's even more annoying when she's depressed."

The thought of Rachel walking around with a storm cloud over her head, and knowing it's because of her, makes Quinn's insides ache.

Santana sees the pained look on her face and softens just a little. "Look, I don't know what's going on between you two, but you gotta fix it."

Quinn peers at her carefully. "Why do you care so much about this?"

"Because we have a science project due next week and it'll be a lot harder to convince her to do all the work if she's acting like Edward Cullen just dumped her. And because glee club won't be as entertaining if Streisand doesn't argue with Mr. Schue the whole time." She pauses. "You know, B, I think Quinn could use some of those gummy bears you keep in your locker."

Brittany jumps up from the table. "Oooh! I'll go get them. They're so good, Quinn. I've been eating them all month. I think it's a magic bag though because it keeps filling back up by itself." She shrugs and heads out of the cafeteria without noticing the blush and hint of a smile on Santana's face.

She clears her throat and looks at Quinn once more. "You're one of my best friends… you always have been. And I want you to be happy." She licks her lips as she fiddles with the neck of her water bottle. "And I think that for some... _really_ weird reason, she makes you happy."

The corner of Quinn's mouth twitches. "There's kind of a lot of reasons, actually."

Santana pretends to gag. "Don't get all mushy on me."

"You're one to talk, Miss Magical Refilling Candy Bag."

She burns red again. "Screw you. If she eats candy all day she's really sugar-high by the end of school and then she has more energy for—"

Quinn holds up a hand. "I get the idea." She takes a small bite of salad and chews it slowly. "San… how do you do it?"

"There is no way in _hell_ we're having this conversation—"

"That's not what I meant. How do you…" She takes a deep breath. "When you're with her at school, and you do that thing with your pinkies, and you're just… _together_ all the time… aren't you scared?"

Santana doesn't answer right away. "I used to be."

"What changed?"

She glances around to make sure nobody's eavesdropping. "I got a taste of what it was like to not have her. And I realized that it wasn't worth feeling safe if she wasn't around." Santana examines her fingernails. "I love her, and that's all that matters."

Quinn's eyes fall to the table top. "You make it sound so easy," she murmurs.

"Yeah, well, I'm also the captain of the Cheerios and a complete bitch, so people know not to mess with me."

She chuckles softly and there's a short silence before she speaks again. "I'm in love with her, San."

"We know you love Rachel, silly," Brittany says from behind her, and Quinn jumps a few inches off the bench.

Brittany returns to her seat and sets the bag of gummy bears in the middle of the table. "You always look like you want to give her sweet lady kisses," she continues, popping a few gummies into her mouth. "Eat some! They make your breath taste all fruity."

"No thanks," Quinn mumbles as she tries not to freak out about the fact that people know she has feelings for Rachel without her having said a word.

"I really hope you're not wondering how we figured it out," Santana says with a tone that straddles the line between amusement and disbelief. "Q, you're about as subtle as that weasel that's taken up residence on Puckerman's head."

"Lord Tubbington tried to attack it the other day," Brittany adds as she chews on a lemon flavored bear. "I grounded him for a week." She frowns suddenly. "I should call him to make sure he's not sneaking in TV time. He recorded, like, fifteen episodes of _House_ over the weekend. I don't even get what the big deal is about that show. I mean, it's just a _house_. What's so interesting about that?"

Santana smiles. "Couldn't tell you, B." She takes Brittany's hand and pulls her up from the bench. "Why don't we go up to the computer lab and Skype the Tubbs to make sure he isn't breaking any rules?"

"Isn't that the one with the door that locks?" she asks with a grin.

Santana smirks. "It sure is, Britts." She wiggles an eyebrow at Quinn. "Later, Q."

Quinn watches their retreating forms, taking in their adoring smiles and linked pinkies and general _closeness_, and something in her chest clenches because she misses Rachel more than she's ever missed anyone in her life.

Something occurs to her suddenly and she bolts from the table to catch up to them. "Santana, wait!"

She comes to a reluctant halt and glances over her shoulder. "What can I do for you, Q?"

Quinn nibbles her bottom lip as her eyes dig deep into Santana's. "Please don't tell anyone," she whispers.

She sighs. "Look… I'm a bitch, but I'm not _that_ big of a bitch." Her mouth curves into a soft almost-smile. "You're secret's safe with me."

Before Quinn can say anything else, the two girls are strolling out of the cafeteria and she's once again left alone with her thoughts. Thoughts including how she's about to sit in the same room as Rachel for forty-five minutes.

There's still a good chunk of time left in the period so she dumps the remains of her salad in the trash barrel and heads down the hallway. It's one of those moments where she tells herself she's just going to wander aimlessly through the school until it's time to go to class, but she knows exactly where her feet are taking her.

Quinn's heart jumps to her throat when the choir room door comes into view. She can hear the piano going, and though she doesn't recognize the melody, it gives her a surge of adrenaline because God, what she wouldn't give to just see Rachel in front of her right now.

She rips open the door and takes a step inside. "Rachel, I—" She stops when she realizes Kurt and Blaine are staring back at her from their seats at the piano, and Rachel is nowhere to be found.

"Quinn?" Kurt says, peering at her with a curious expression. "Sweetie, what are you doing here?"

She stands rooted to the floor, jaw hanging open slightly, her eyes wide like she's just been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I'm sorry," she mumbles as she walks backwards to the door and finally turns around and flees back out to the hallway.

Quinn ends up in the library for the rest of lunch, trying to read a book but really just thinking about how two more people are now aware that something is going on between her and Rachel. It was jarring enough to discover that Santana and Brittany already knew, but now Kurt and Blaine are probably at least suspicious, and she feels like her control of the situation is slipping little by little.

Over the years she's gotten so used to having the world in the palm of her hand; bossing people around, affecting somebody's day with a single glare, getting whatever she wanted just because she was the most popular girl in school and her classmates were so ready to keep her happy. Now she feels like she barely has a grip on anything in her life—her sexuality, her feelings for Rachel, her relationship with her mom, her reputation in the school. Granted, some of those are more important to her than others, but still… she's new to this whole thing, not having the world wrapped around her finger.

Quinn can't help but realize, however, that she didn't notice her lack of control when she was with Rachel. That strawberry shampoo and that smile and that ever-enthusiastic voice always managed to chase the worst of her worries from her mind; all that lingered was that awful mixture of fear and denial of what was happening between them.

But things are different now. Quinn knows how she feels. She kissed Rachel so Rachel knows how she feels. Rachel tried to kiss her back and flat-out told her how she felt. The feelings are all there, so neither of them has to hide behind excuses and denials and uncertainty anymore.

Except Rachel is currently avoiding her because Quinn told her they couldn't be together, so maybe she's getting a little ahead of herself.

She lets out an exasperated groan, closing her book and leaning forward to bury her face in her folded arms. Quinn has no idea what to do; she could pretend she doesn't want Rachel, tell her mom that this whole year has just been a huge misunderstanding and that she's straight as a yard stick and that she'll have a handsome son-in-law in five years. She could talk to Rachel and try to figure out a way to be friends—

Quinn rolls her eyes at herself. Just the idea of being only "friends" with Rachel makes her want to puke.

So… what if they were more? What if they allowed themselves to surrender to these feelings and _be together_? What if they went on dates and cuddled on the couch and got each other gifts on Valentine's Day… what if they had a relationship? Quinn knows she wasn't exactly Girlfriend of the Year when she was with Finn or Puck or Sam, but this thing she has with Rachel… it feels different. She knows, she feels it inside of her, that she would be so much better this time. Try so much harder. Do everything in her power to make sure Rachel is happy. Be everything she needs her to be. She would care for her, make sure nothing and no one could ever hurt Rachel again.

The only problem, she realizes as the bell rings, is she's not sure if she can do all of that inside the walls of William McKinley High School.

* * *

><p>Her palms are sweating against the plastic cover of her notebook as she makes her way to English, and she grips it just a little bit tighter to make sure she doesn't drop it. She's had enough of being the center of attention.<p>

Quinn crosses the threshold and her gaze immediately drifts to Rachel's usual desk, but once again the girl is missing. She lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding and takes her seat, then spends the next few minutes waiting in agony for Rachel to arrive. Her eyes snap to the doorway as each person walks in and her frown becomes more and more pronounced at the appearance of everyone who isn't Rachel.

Thankfully nobody sits in the seat next to her (though that might be because she glares at anyone who tries to), and when Rachel finally hurries into the room seconds after the bell rings, it's the only open desk available. Quinn doesn't miss the redness in her eyes as she throws the teacher a breathless apology for being late, nor does she miss the shift in the girl's expression when she realizes she has to sit next to Quinn.

The reluctance on her face hurts more than it probably should.

Rachel slips into her seat and busies herself with getting out her notes, then picking out the sharpest pencil in her bag, then writing the date as neatly as possible at the top of the paper.

Quinn waits for the teacher to turn her back and then leans over just a fraction. "Rachel," she whispers, so quietly that she's not sure if she even heard her.

Rachel's gaze remains at the front of the room as she reads the words on the board. "Hello, Quinn," she mutters, and Quinn's heart skips a beat; this is the first time she's heard Rachel's voice in almost twenty-four hours.

She licks her lips and tries to mentally will Rachel to look at her. "I know you're mad at me—"

"Quinn, if you don't mind, I would really like to focus on the lesson."

The determined lack of emotion in her tone takes Quinn off-guard. "Rachel," she breathes, fighting to suppress the tears that are suddenly forming behind her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She can see Rachel tighten her grip on her pencil and she waits for a response, for anything, and she can't even tell if she's breathing right now.

"Please," Rachel says quietly, and it's almost a whimper.

Quinn tenses, her mind exploding with guesses, hopes, fears of what Rachel will say next.

Rachel's jaw clenches briefly before she continues. "I'm trying to concentrate."

She wants to snatch that pencil out of her hand and drag her out of the room and tell her how much she means to her, shout it at the top her lungs until Rachel understands, and maybe swear a few times because she loves it when Rachel berates her for foul language. She just can't stand this freaking silence between them.

But the teacher tells them to split up into groups and discuss whatever stupid metaphor she was just talking about, and Rachel immediately turns away to join people on the other side of the room.

Quinn swallows the emotion surging through her and manages to put on a smile and accept an invitation to work with the two girls in front of her. Just like yesterday she tunes out the discussion and sneaks glances at Rachel, but her back is to Quinn so she has no way to gauge what Rachel is thinking.

The period drags by; the big hand on the clock seems to move so slowly that Quinn finally double-checks the time on her cell phone to see much time has passed. When the bell rings at last, Rachel shoots out of her seat before half the class has even finished packing their things. She bolts after her, ignoring the dirty look she gets when she steps on somebody's backpack, and as she hurries out of the classroom she's simultaneously amazed and annoyed by how fast Rachel can be when she wants to. Rachel disappears into the sea of students and Quinn's eyes desperately scan for a glimpse of her, and it takes her a good thirty seconds to spot the girl at her locker at the other end of the hallway.

Quinn sets her jaw and makes a beeline straight for the argyle sweater and yellow skirt. Her tunnel vision causes her to bump into a few people but she couldn't care less; she takes a breath and Rachel's name is on the tip of her tongue when a strong arm suddenly slips around her shoulders and leads her right past her destination.

"What's up?" Puck asks casually, bringing her around the corner, and she glances back at Rachel before glaring at him.

"What the hell, Puck?" she growls, trying to shove him away. "I was trying to—"

"I know," he says, lowering his voice a bit. "But Jew-Fro was following you." He lets his arm drop from her shoulders and throws her an apologetic look. "I didn't think you'd want him to hear that conversation."

Quinn swallows and looks around, mentally cursing herself for being so careless. She shouldn't have assumed she would be safe talking to Rachel about this at school. She looks up at him again, this time with a softer expression. "Thank you," she murmurs, then sighs. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs and grins at her. "Wanna make it up to me?"

She arches an eyebrow. "I don't know, does it involve me taking my clothes off?"

"Naw," he says, smirking. "Finn was supposed to come over after school for a C_all of Duty _marathon but he's still moping about the Rachel thing. Feel like taking his place?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "He's the one who broke up with her. Shouldn't he be over it by now?"

"Yeah, no shit. So what d'you say? You, me, and my Xbox 360. You up for it?"

She studies his face, pretending to look for any sign of false pretenses. "If this so-called Xbox turns out to be your new sex move or something, I'll kill you."

He gives her an approving grin. "You're gonna be so awesome at this game."

* * *

><p>It's strange to find Puck waiting at her locker instead of Rachel when she gets out of detention, but it's a hell of a lot better than this morning when there was no one there at all. He's leaning sideways against the locker next to hers, a classic Puckerman smirk planted on his face, and it almost feels like old times. Like he never got her pregnant, like their relationship never came to a standstill, like she's not in love with a girl.<p>

"You ready to give those fingers a workout?" he asks with a wink.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You don't say these things to Finn, do you?"

"_Hell_ no," he says, looking revolted. "And besides, that kid wouldn't get a dirty joke if it kicked him in the crotch."

She wrinkles her nose. "Okay. Change of subject, please."

Puck thinks for a moment. "I'm gonna start taking night classes," he offers.

"Voluntarily?"

He grins. "Ms. Holliday is teaching."

Quinn shakes her head. "Of course."

"Ain't no extra credit like late-night extra credit."

She pretends to gag. "Yeah, not a huge fan of this subject, either."

He throws out his arms in exasperation. "What am I supposed to talk about?" he asks, holding the door open for her as they head for the parking lot.

Quinn glances up at the sky. "Gosh, this is some great weather we're having."

"Boring."

"Okay, you want me to be more like a guy?" She clears her throat dramatically. "Sex, sex, sex. Sex… and sex… also, sex." She glances at Puck. "Shall I continue?"

He looks almost disturbed. "Sunny," he mutters. "Nice breeze."

* * *

><p>The Puckerman house is empty when they arrive, but the silence only lasts for a few minutes. Puck plugs his mp3 player into the stereo system in the living room and cranks the volume until the windows are rattling in their frames and Quinn can feel the bass in her bones.<p>

"It's my pre-video game ritual," Puck explains loudly as he leads her into the kitchen and starts grabbing stuff from the fridge. "You want a PB&J?"

Quinn is about to decline the offer when she sees a pink paisley apron hanging on the oven door handle. She grins and quirks a challenging eyebrow. "Only if you wear _that_ while you make it," she replies, pointing to the apron, and Puck shakes his head.

"No way."

"I really think you should."

"Nope."

"Please?"

He huffs. "You know what? Fine! The Puckasaurus is still a badass no matter what he's wearing. Gimme that," he growls, snatching it from Quinn when she hands it to him and yanking the neck strap over his head.

"Awww," Quinn says, giving him her sweetest smile, "You look adorable."

He finishes tying the waistband behind his back. "Shut up and hand me the bread."

She laughs and does as she's told. "Anything I can do to help out, gorgeous."

Puck rolls his eyes as he stabs into the jar of peanut butter with just a little more force than necessary. "I can't wait to kick your ass in about ten minutes. I ain't going easy on you just 'cause you're a newb, you know."

"Bring it on, Puckerman," she replies, and she can feel her lips curving into her old Cheerios smirk.

He throws her a glare. "Just take your damn sandwich, Fabray."

Quinn grabs the paper plate and brings it into the living room, trying not to wince at the volume of the music. "Do you always play it this loud?" she calls over her shoulder.

Puck joins her a few moments later, still wearing the apron. "Yep. Gets my adrenalin going. Keeps me focused."

She frowns in confusion. "Don't you need to hear what's going on?"

He shakes his head and takes a big bite of his PB&J. "Naw, dude," he mumbles around the chunk of food in his mouth. "This game is all about your eyes."

"Speaking of which," Quinn says, trying to stifle a smile, "As flattering as that color is on you, I think the paisley might be a bit distracting while I'm trying to shoot people."

Puck stops chewing and looks down, and when he realizes he still has the apron on, he drops his sandwich and wrestles the fabric away from his body like he's just been told it's infested with lice. He crumples it into a ball and pitches it into the armchair a few feet away.

"You ready to play or what?" he grumbles, daring her to make another joke about it, and hands her a controller.

She studies the buttons as he sets up the game. "What do I do?"

He arranges her fingers into the correct positions and then uses his own controller as an example. "Press this to shoot, this to crouch, this to switch weapons, this to aim, this to throw a grenade…" Puck trails off when he notices how confused she looks. "Ah, whatever. You'll figure it out eventually."

"If you say so," Quinn replies, and she stares intently at the screen as the countdown ticks to zero and the game begins.

She's really good at first—she pretends all of the enemy guys are Finn and kills six within the first few minutes—but thinking about Finn makes her think about Rachel and then their conversation from yesterday is playing over and over again in her head and she finds herself paying considerably less attention to the battlefield in front of her.

"What are you thinking about over there?"

She blinks and pulls herself out of her daze. "Hmm?"

"I just killed you three times in a row and you didn't even notice. Come on, Q. Talk to me."

Quinn shakes her head a little. "It's nothing, Puck. Just… stuff."

He's silent for a few moments as he switches weapons and shoots down a few random players. "Does it have anything to do with Rachel?"

Her heart skips a beat and she licks her lips. How much does he know? How much is she okay with him knowing? "Yeah," she says, and her voice is shaking a little.

He spots her a few feet away and tosses a grenade in her direction. "Are you, like… into her?"

Her palms are sweating against the controller. "What makes you think that?"

Puck shrugs. "I've seen you guys hanging out a lot. And you just seem kinda… you know. Into each other."

Quinn swallows, debating whether she wants to let this conversation happen. "I never knew you were into girl talk," she jokes, firing off a few random shots that don't hit anyone.

"Do you see any nail polish anywhere? We're playing _Call of Duty_. This is _dude_ talk."

She arches an eyebrow. "I feel like I should be offended by that."

He laughs. "Come on, Quinn. Spill." Puck glances at her, a goofy smirk plastered on his face. "Are you hot for Berry?"

Her cheeks burn red at his word choice and his grin doubles in size.

"I knew it! I totally knew it!" He rips a bite from his sandwich. "I mean, who can blame you? Hell, I hooked up with her once—"

"Okay, can we not?" Quinn interrupts, her grip tightening around the controller as she holds down the trigger button and struggles to point the gun at him.

"How far have you gotten with her?" he asks with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

"Puck!"

"First base?"

"It's none of your business." Quinn can feel herself glaring at the screen as she tries to steady her sniper scope. She pulls the trigger and takes Puck down with a perfect headshot. "We kissed," she says abruptly.

"_Hot_."

"Shut up."

He glances at her for a moment before turning back to the game. "What's going on with you two, anyway? Rachel seems kinda… bummed out, you know?"

Quinn bites her bottom lip. "Yeah. I know."

Puck stops moving around the map and looks at her again. "Wanna talk about it?" he asks, and even though his voice is raised over the music, his tone is soft.

She begins to think about everything that's happened, about how happy Rachel was all week and how Quinn messed everything up in one fell swoop, and Puck must see something in her expression because he pauses the game and scoots a little closer and puts a tentative hand on her back.

"Quinn?"

"Basically," she says, and there's suddenly a lump in her throat, "I panicked."

His hand starts sliding gently up and down. "Uh-huh."

"I mean… I can't just _be in a relationship_ with a girl. The way everyone treated Kurt… and my mom hates that part of me… and those _guys_," she finishes, her arm subconsciously winding around the curve of her ribs, and her voice cracks on the last word.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," he says, bringing her closer, and she leans into him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"I don't know what to do," she murmurs, and she almost can't hear herself over the guitar solo blasting from the speakers.

He shrugs. "Fix it." When Quinn doesn't respond, he looks down at her. "What are you so afraid of?"

She lets out an emotionless laugh. "Everything."

Puck sighs. "Well, I can't do much about your mom… or this stupid town. But at school?" The corner of his mouth lifts into a confident smirk. "Between me and Santana, nobody would touch you."

Quinn straightens and leans forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, and massages her temples. "I think you're forgetting the part where she's mad at me. She doesn't want to hear what I have to say."

He doesn't respond right away. "She might if you came back to glee."

She arches an eyebrow. "So, what, I sing her a song and she forgives me? That's not how it works."

"I'm not saying she'll forgive you. But maybe it'll make her listen." Puck gives her a small grin. "This is Rachel Berry we're talking about. If you sing to her and she still gives you the cold shoulder, I'll shave my mohawk."

That makes Quinn smile a little. "You really need to trim that thing, by the way."

His hands immediately drift up to his head. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"It's getting pretty long, Puck. You don't want people to think you're overcompensating."

"You of all people should know I'm not," he replies with a wink.

She punches him in the arm. "Don't make me challenge you to a rematch with this Warfare Duty thing. I'm all warmed up now."

"It's _Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3_, and you are _so freaking on_." He grabs his controller from the coffee table and starts zipping through the game menus, and just as he's about to begin the new battle, the music changes.

The volume is so loud that the sudden absence of harsh drums and obnoxious power chords changes the vibe of the entire room; a softer melody hits their ears instead.

Puck groans and heaves himself off the couch. "I hate it when my sister borrows my iPod," he grumbles as he heads for the stereo.

"Hang on." She's listening to the lyrics, her body completely still as she focuses on every individual word.

Once the chorus comes, she knows.

"Puck, can I borrow your laptop?"

He cocks an eyebrow in confusion. "Sure," he says, grabbing it from the desk across the room. "Why?"

Quinn takes it from him and opens an Internet window, and within thirty seconds she has the song lyrics in front of her. She reads through them carefully, nibbling her lip as her eyes scan each line, and then glances up at him. "Do you think you could learn this on your acoustic by Monday?"

There's a hint of pride underneath Puck's smirk. "Please. Gimme an hour."

She can't stifle her smile as she imagines herself singing right into those beautiful brown eyes that she misses so much, imagines the look on Rachel's face when she realizes it's all for her.

Puck turns off the game. "I'll go grab my guitar," he says, and just before he turns the corner to go upstairs, he stops and glances over his shoulder. "She's gonna love it, Quinn."

* * *

><p><strong>Puck is indescribably fun to write.<strong>


	13. Rachel

**I am so, so, so incredibly sorry for how long it took me to update this time around. This semester was absolute hell homework-wise and I just didn't have any frigging time. But now classes are done so I can promise with absolute sincerity that the next chapter will not take two goddamn months to write.**

**So, without further ado, this chapter is dedicated to Leah, because she put the idea in my head.**

* * *

><p>She doesn't understand what happened. First she was thinking about how she really wanted to kiss Quinn, and then Quinn was kissing <em>her<em>, and then she tried to kiss her back, but then Quinn's lips weren't there anymore and her eyes were so scared and then the words "I can't" drifted out and all the teen romantic comedy moments Rachel was already imagining in her head were suddenly gone.

Something happens inside of her when she hears those two words. She's not quite sure what it is, exactly, but it hurts like hell and everything she was so sure about a second ago is crumbling. The way Quinn smiles at her, the kisses on the cheek, how she trusts Rachel with her deepest secrets… now she's second-guessing every single moment.

"I thought…" The rest of the sentence almost doesn't make it out. "I thought you wanted me."

"Rachel," Quinn says, and it sounds like she's close to tears, "I do. _God_, I do. I just…"

"You just what?" The words slip off her tongue without her fully wanting them to, but then again, she's never been one to keep her thoughts to herself.

A drop of moisture rolls down Quinn's cheek. "I'm scared," she breathes. "I'm so fucking scared."

Rachel hears the curse word, hears the flood of God knows how many emotions behind it, sees the panic in her eyes, but all she can think about is how badly she needs Quinn to tell her that they can have this.

"You have feelings for me," she says finally.

"Yes," Quinn answers, and it kind of comes out as a gasp, like her lungs aren't working quite right. Rachel feels her heart soar with hope. "Rachel, I wish this was simple and I could… we could just… but it's _not._"

Her heart plummets to the floor.

"I can't—"

"You _won't_." The two syllables are out before she can stop them, because the only thing she understands right now is she let herself think she could have this and now Quinn is telling her she can't. That doesn't make sense. Quinn is the strongest person she knows. She can do anything. "You could, Quinn. You could ignore what everyone wants you to want and do what _you_ want. I know you're brave enough. And I know _I_ could be brave enough, if you were right there with me. But this… this isn't fair."

Quinn looks like Rachel just punched her in the gut. "What are you talking about?"

Rachel exhales heavily. She can't imagine anything worse than knowing there's something between them and being forced to ignore it. "You can't tell me you have feelings… you can't _kiss_ me a-and then say this is too complicated. I-it's like you're dangling all of it in front of my face, but I can't reach out and grab it." Her eyes are burning with moisture and Quinn's face is just a blur at this point. "It's not fair."

"Rachel, please…" Her voice is trembling.

"Look, I understand why you're scared. And believe me, I am too." She takes a deep, shaky breath. "But I can't ignore the way I feel anymore. I-I don't _want_ to." The tears in her eyes spill over. "Quinn, you can pretend and deny if you want, but… I won't sit here and do the same." Everything is going an million miles an hour; she can't think. Especially not while Quinn is looking at her like that. "I need you to leave," Rachel whispers, and she's surprised how steady her voice is.

She can feel Quinn staring at her but she keeps her eyes down as she wipes away her tears. "Please. I just—I need to think." She waits, holding her breath, for Quinn to get up. She doesn't. Finally, Rachel snaps. "Quinn!"

Quinn flinches; it's clear that she didn't expect the outburst.

"Please, you need to go." Rachel's eyes stare straight ahead as Quinn stumbles off the bed and out of the room, and it's not until she hears the front door open and close that she leans over, buries her face in her pillow, and cries.

She's felt unwanted before. She felt it every time Finn broke up with her to date someone else, she felt it when Jesse egged her in the parking lot, and she still feels it every time an insult goes undefended by anyone in the glee club. But what she's never felt before is this concept of being wanted… but off-limits. It's something almost unfathomable to her, this idea of being unattainable, because she was so ready—ready to take a risk, to put herself out there and see what happened, ready to show everyone this thing she has with Quinn, ready to show them that she's not afraid of the gossip or the slushies or judging looks as long as Quinn is by her side.

But Quinn is terrified, and so very not ready. Rachel could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and suddenly she's reminded of their conversation in the bathroom when Quinn told her about the assault, and a wave of emotion hits her like the Titanic colliding with the iceberg. Now she's in Quinn's head, thinking about the things Mrs. Fabray said and the boys that attacked her and how much _pressure_ she must be under, and she's crying twice as hard because how could she have been so awful, so selfish? Quinn let all her walls down, left herself completely vulnerable, and Rachel ruined everything by pouncing on her weak spots instead of talking it out, instead of trying to understand.

There's a soft knock on her door. "Girls? Are you in here?"

Rachel sits up quickly and tries to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks as the door creaks open and Hiram pokes his head in.

"I just put some veggie burgers on the—" He stops in midsentence when he sees Rachel's red, watery eyes. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asks, and as he enters the room his eyes drift to the foot of her bed.

She follows his gaze and realizes Quinn's photographs are still laid out over the quilt. She sniffs and begins gathering them up into a messy pile but her hands are shaking and she can barely see what she's doing through the moisture in her eyes. "I'm fine, Daddy. I was just rehearsing one of the more poignant scenes in _West Side Story_ and my emotions got out of hand." Her voice is thick and uneven; she's not fooling either of them.

Hiram sits down on the bed and gently takes the photos from her. "Have your dad and I ever told you that you're a horrendous liar?"

Rachel manages a small smile. "On numerous occasions." She averts her eyes as he shuffles through the pictures.

"These are really good," he murmurs, lingering on a few of them. "Did Quinn take these?"

At the mention of the girl's name she crumbles again, and within seconds there's a soft hand rubbing her back. "What's wrong, Honey?" He gently tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "You know you can tell me anything."

She nods as she lets out a small sob. She sniffs again and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Daddy… she kissed me."

He nods. "I see," he says, and his tone implies that he wants more information.

Rachel takes a deep, shaky breath. "I-I think she wants to be with me… but she's too scared of what might happen. Which obviously makes perfect sense given the circumstances—her mother is homophobic, as is the school… the entire town, for that matter—and she was already ostracized for her pregnancy so of course she wouldn't want to go through another ordeal of that nature…" She knows she's rambling but it's all she can do to keep from crying more. "But I… I _criticized _her. And then I kicked her out..." She freezes. "Oh God. Her parents kicked her out and then Finn kicked her out and I just..." Rachel feels another wave of tears coming and buries her face in Hiram's shirt. "Why did I do that?" she sobs as his arms wrap around her tightly.

"First of all, Quinn isn't living here, so it's not the same situation," he replies, rubbing her arm. "But I understand why you're upset.

She sniffs against the now damp fabric. "I don't know what to do. I ruined everything. She probably hates me now."

He kisses the top of her head. "I highly doubt she hates you," he says, gently stroking her hair. "If I had to hazard a guess I'd say she's hurt, but that's nothing that can't be worked out with a conversation. Why don't you talk to her?"

Rachel shakes her head. "There's no point. It would just end with her telling me what I already know. That we can't." She chokes on the last word; her eyes are leaking again.

Hiram lets out a quiet sigh. "Shall we discuss this further over some ice cream, veggie burgers be damned?"

She thinks of when Quinn came over and tried all the flavors and they ended up basically cuddling on the couch, and there's a pang in her chest. She takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes again. "I'm not very hungry. I think I'm just going to stay up here for a while."

He gives her a small smile. "Let me know if you need anything," he says, ending his sentence with a kiss on her forehead, and he grabs the pile of photos before leaving the room.

Rachel flops back onto her pillows and stares up at the ceiling, moisture still trickling out of the corners of her eyes. Quinn's absence is like a gaping hole beside her; yet another feeling she never experienced with Finn or Jesse. When they left she felt sad, even heartbroken… but never like this. Never _incomplete_.

As soon as the thought enters her mind she scolds herself for being so melodramatic; surely this isn't as big of a deal as she's making it out to be. Yes, she has developed rather… _strong_… feelings for Quinn over the last few weeks, but that doesn't mean she _needs_ her.

She closes her eyes and thinks about her relationship with Quinn. She thinks about all of their time together—the mornings, afternoons, evenings, and even those two nights. She thinks about their conversations and how easy it is to trust Quinn, and how natural and safe it feels to go to her when something is wrong, to seek her out when she needs someone, to be held in her arms. She thinks about how, even with their rocky beginnings, Quinn has become one of the most supportive people in her life. She thinks of the way Quinn smiles at her, how her lips spread wide and the corners of her mouth lift to her eyes and her entire face lights up like the sun.

And then Rachel's heart aches, because she doesn't know when she'll see that smile again.

A quiet sob escapes her throat and she curls up on her side, bringing her stuffed lion (named Lionel, obviously) into her chest and tucking his furry head under her chin. Her dads bought it for her at the Central Park Zoo when they brought her to New York for the very first time; her seven-year-old self had skipped right up to the lion cage, enthralled by the sheer power of the roars ripping from behind their canines. She thought of it as their way of singing to the other animals rather than a fierce warning of their predator status, much to the amusement of her dads, and so she left the park with the absurdly expensive plush lion clutched tightly in her arms.

Rachel tends to seek comfort from him when she doubts herself—whether due to an imperfect audition or simply a throw-away comment from somebody in glee club—because he reminds her that her voice is one of her greatest and most valuable assets, and that nobody could ever silence her.

But this time she's not squeezing him for comfort or courage. She's squeezing him out of anger and frustration, because she just _had_ to say all those things to Quinn, _had_ to force her away because of those stupid, selfish reasons.

Her voice has never gotten her in this much trouble.

* * *

><p>Rachel arrives at school half an hour early the next morning and goes directly to the choir room, perching herself on the piano bench and smoothing her skirt and generally trying to remain calm. She had counted on sleep being a refuge from her thoughts, but her mind instead delivered a jumbled myriad of images of Quinn: smiling, laughing, crying, bruised, all mixed together, and she woke up just as overemotional as she had been when she went to bed.<p>

She sticks out her right index finger and begins playing a scale on the piano. Each keystroke is slow, calculated, and deliberate; mindless, and yet she focuses all of her thoughts on each individual note. She goes up and down the C major scale once and then switches to G major, repeating the same motions, followed by D major and A major. The simple, steady rhythm is almost hypnotizing.

She's a few notes into the E major scale when the door opens and she jumps at the sudden interruption, her hand covering her racing heart. She glances up and frowns slightly. "Kurt, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

He quirks an eyebrow. "You're one to talk. Your text was specific enough to let me know that something was wrong but vague enough that I had no idea what."

His words remind her what they're here to talk about and all the oxygen seems to leave her lungs.

"This is why I can't deal with girls," he continues as he grabs a chair and drags it closer to the piano. "You people always feel the need to be dramatic—"

"I have feelings for Quinn," she blurts and Kurt's rant comes to a screeching halt. His eyes widen and he leans forward in his chair.

"Okay," he says softly.

Her bottom lip is already trembling. "And she has feelings for me."

He nods, his gaze still fixed intently on her. "Uh-huh."

"A-and we kissed."

Kurt blinks once but continues nodding. "Of course."

Rachel sniffs and her eyebrows pull together in confusion. "You don't seem very surprised."

The corner of his mouth twitches but he stifles whatever expression was about to appear on his face. "We can have that conversation later." He pats her knee gently. "Sweetie, tell me why you're so upset."

She takes a deep breath and clasps her hands in her lap. "We kissed… a-and she panicked. She's so scared of this. Of us." Rachel wipes a drop of moisture from her eye. "I just… it was perfect… and it felt…" She dissolves into tears again and Kurt squeezes her hand.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," he murmurs, rubbing the back of her palm.

She sniffs. "I care about her so much… a-and I'm so scared I ruined everything. What if she never speaks to me again? What if she just ignores me until graduation? What if—"

"Hey, slow down," Kurt interrupts gently. "Quinn is not going to ignore you."

She brings her wet, red eyes up to his. "How do you know?"

He gives her a small smile. "She couldn't ignore you even when she hated you."

Rachel's gaze returns to her lap. "I don't want her to hate me again," she whispers.

"Rachel," he begins, scooting just a bit closer, "she doesn't hate you."

She doesn't respond.

Kurt lays his hand over hers. "You have the right to be upset with her. But Rachel… she also has the right to be scared. You _both_ do. It's not easy being gay in this school. In this _town_, for that matter."

Rachel thinks of the bruises on Quinn's body and her eyes fill with tears again. "She's already been through so much," she mumbles, ending her sentence with a sniff.

His eyebrows pull together slightly. "And you haven't? If I remember correctly, fifty percent of slushy sales used to go toward ruining your animal sweaters."

She shakes her head. "I wasn't kicked out of my house. My parents didn't disown me." Rachel keeps the stuff about the assault to herself. "It's not the same."

"Pain is pain, Rachel. No matter what form it comes in."

She doesn't say anything for a moment; she hugs her arms against her chest and studies the smudges on the dirty tile floor. She counts twelve of them. "I don't know what to do," she whispers finally, still staring at the tiles. "I miss her so much but… I-I can't bear the thought of…" Rachel meets Kurt's gaze. "What if she pretends nothing ever happened between us?"

At this, he abandons his chair to join her on the piano bench and he puts his arm around her shoulders. He remains silent but rubs her arm soothingly, not caring that she's getting her tears on what is probably a designer jacket.

Rachel begins to think about all of the things that aren't going to happen today. She thinks about how she's not going to meet Quinn at her locker and how they're not going to hang out before homeroom, how Quinn isn't going to join her here for lunch…

What if she does?

The thought sends a jolt through her body, and she's not sure why she's freaking out at the idea that Quinn might try to talk to her, but she _is_ quite positive that she can't handle being in her presence for anything more than their shared class.

And yet, a part of her is desperate to know if Quinn will come to the choir room.

"Rachel?" Kurt asks, staring at her in confusion as she gazes blankly into space.

She looks up at him. "What do you normally do during your lunch period?"

He blinks. "Eat with Blaine. Why?"

She thinks for a moment longer. "Eat in here. Blaine can come too. I need…" She nibbles her bottom lip. "I need you to tell me if Quinn shows up."

Kurt arches an eyebrow. "Rachel…"

"Please. I-I need to know if—" She stops and tries to swallow the lump in her throat. "I can't face her yet." She takes his hand. "Please, Kurt. Please do this for me."

He looks wary but he finally sighs. "You have the most obnoxiously irresistible begging face I've ever seen."

She takes a deep breath of relief. "Meet me in the auditorium at the end of the period. I expect a full report."

Kurt barks out a single laugh. "Would you like a slide show presentation as well or will a verbal account suffice?"

Rachel tries her best to glare at him. "Verbal is fine," she replies pointedly. She stands up, smoothes out her skirt, and wipes her eyes and cheeks. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head to homeroom."

He frowns at the clock on the wall. "The first bell doesn't ring for fifteen minutes."

Rachel looks at him briefly. "I'm planning to take the scenic route." She's out the door before he has a chance to respond.

It takes her the whole fifteen minutes to find a way to her class that doesn't involve passing Quinn's locker.

* * *

><p>Rachel makes it through homeroom (she thinks she sees Santana studying her several times, but she's sure she just imagined it) and her first four classes with her emotions relatively in check. At the end of each period she thinks about where she usually passes Quinn in the hallway and then plans out an alternate route, and her efforts are successful each time; she avoids all eight of their daily pre-lunch encounters.<p>

She does, she thinks, an impressive job of not letting her mind wander anywhere beyond her schoolwork. She concentrates her full attention on each lesson and the structured normalcy keeps her thoughts comfortably neutral. The only thing she can't pull off is bringing herself to return anyone's smiles; she tries, she really does, but the corners of her lips just won't lift no matter how much enthusiasm she puts into it. Still, only Puck asks her if she's okay (in health class, her only non-honors course), and she tells him she's fine and he doesn't press any further.

When the lunch bell rings, however, she feels her control slipping again. This is usually the part of the school day that she looks forward to the most because it's forty-five minutes of just her and Quinn, but today that's obviously not the case and an excruciating mixture of longing and dread settles in the pit of her stomach.

Rachel decides to make a quick trip to the cafeteria to grab a salad so she can eat it in the auditorium while she waits for Kurt. She waits until the period is in full swing so the lunch line won't be as long and then quietly sneaks into the room, her eyes automatically sweeping the crowd to make sure Quinn isn't—

Rachel's heart nearly stops when she sees her. She's sitting at the end of the Cheerio's table with Santana, both looking intently at each other and having what looks like an extremely private conversation. Rachel watches for a long moment as if she's frozen in place; this is the first time she's seen Quinn since last night and everything that happened is crashing down around her all at once and the guilt and anger are swallowing her up like quicksand.

She finally manages to tear her gaze away and she hurries out of the cafeteria, abandoning her plan to get food, and heads in the direction of the auditorium as fast as her feet will carry her. It's all hitting her again, all the thoughts she tried so hard to ignore all day, because seeing Quinn has reminded her exactly what she doesn't have, what she can't have, and she feels the tears behind her eyes long before the first one falls.

Rachel steps up onto the stage and approaches the piano with a caution she's never felt before, like she's afraid it will shatter if she's too aggressive with it (or, perhaps, that _she_ will shatter). She takes a seat at the bench and stares down at the keys, the black and white shapes going in and out of focus as she blinks the moisture from her eyes. She takes a few deep breaths, arranges her fingers into the correct chords, and begins to play.

_I don't know where I'm at  
><em>_I'm standing at the back  
><em>_And I'm tired of waiting  
><em>_Waiting here in line  
><em>_Hoping that I'll find  
><em>_What I've been chasing_

The movements of her fingers are practically robotic. She's never felt like this before, boggled down with so many emotions that she just feels numb.

_I shot for the sky  
><em>_I'm stuck on the ground  
><em>_Why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down  
><em>_I thought I could fly  
><em>_So why did I drown?  
><em>_I'll never know why it's coming down, down, down_

Rachel stares straight ahead as she plays, trying so hard to get Quinn's face out of her head, but it's all she can see.

_Not ready to let go  
><em>_'Cause then I'd never know  
><em>_What I could be missing  
><em>_But I'm missing way too much  
><em>_So when do I give up  
><em>_What I was wishing for_

Her voice is shaking. Her hands are shaking. Her world is shaking.

_I shot for the sky  
><em>_I'm stuck on the ground  
><em>_So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down  
><em>_I thought I could fly  
><em>_So why did I drown?  
><em>_I'll never know why it's coming down, down, down_

Rachel sees Quinn's smile, feels their joined hands, hears her laugh, feels Quinn's lips pressed against hers.

_Oh, I am coming down, down, down  
><em>_I can't find another way around  
><em>_I don't want to hear the sound  
><em>_Of losing what I never found_

Suddenly for the final chorus she finds her voice rising, and by the time she reaches the last few lines, the auditorium is filled to the brim with each note.

_I shot for the sky  
><em>_I'm stuck on the ground  
><em>_Why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down  
><em>_I thought I could fly  
><em>_So why did I drown?  
><em>_I'll never know why it's coming down, down, down  
><em>_I shot for the sky  
><em>_I'm stuck on the ground  
><em>_Why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down  
><em>_I thought I could fly  
><em>_So why did I drown?  
><em>_I'll never know why it's coming down, down, down_

Rachel's bottom lip trembles as she plays the outro and she only makes it halfway through before she abandons the song, puts her face in her hands, and cries. She keeps telling herself she shouldn't be this upset, that she's overreacting and she'll move on with her life in a few days once this initial hurt wears off… but she can't calm down. She can't shake this feeling that she's lost something very important to her, and that she isn't going to be okay again until she can get it back.

_If_ she can get it back.

"Rachel?"

Kurt's voice behind her snaps her from her thoughts and she hastily wipes the wetness from her cheeks and turns to face the boys. "Hello, Kurt. Blaine," she manages, nodding to each of them.

"Kurt told me what happened," Blaine says softly, his eyebrows pulled together in sympathy. "How are you doing?"

She clears her throat. "I'm fine." She glances at Kurt. "Do you have anything to share with me?"

He exchanges a hesitant look with his boyfriend before answering. "She made an appearance," he says carefully.

Rachel works to keep her lungs breathing. "Made an appearance?" she repeats.

"We were playing the piano while we waited… she walked in thinking it was you."

She blinks. "And then what happened?"

"She apologized for interrupting and then ran off."

Rachel slowly absorbs his words and the fact that Quinn came to the choir room with the intention of talking to her trickles through her system. Her thoughts start firing in a million different directions. Did Quinn want to make sure she understood that nothing was going to happen between them? Did she want to tell her that she changed her mind? Was she just going to pretend like yesterday afternoon didn't even happen?

Her face crumples again; she's never been good at handling uncertainty or what-ifs, and these ones involve one of the most important relationships in her life. She feels Kurt and Blaine join her on either side of the bench and one of them begins rubbing her back, but that only makes things worse.

"Maybe you should just talk to her," Blaine suggests. "I mean, she obviously wants to talk to you. How do you know it's gonna be bad?"

Rachel sniffs. "What else could it be? You weren't there, you didn't see how scared she is. She'll do whatever she needs to do to survive the rest of high school, and if that means staying away from me… that's what she's going to do."

This time Kurt speaks. "But Rachel, you don't _know_ that. Why not just hear her out?"

She shakes her head and a tear falls down her cheek. "We already had that conversation and it was horrible enough the first time."

Kurt sighs. "Sweetie, do you realize how crazy this sounds? You're avoiding her under the assumption that she's avoiding you. How do you know what she's thinking?"

Rachel ignores his question. "Thank you both for your assistance," she replies, standing up from the bench, "but I must be going. I'll see you on Monday." She walks out of the auditorium without looking back and spends the rest of the period sitting in a bathroom stall, weighing the pros and cons of ruining her perfect attendance record by skipping English for the first time in her high school career.

* * *

><p>She's so absorbed in her thoughts that she doesn't hear the bell ring, and she only realizes the period has ended when she's suddenly not alone in the bathroom anymore. Several girls burst through the door chatting animatedly about last night's episode of <em>Grey's Anatomy<em> and she can hear their makeup supplies clattering against the sinks as they argue about which doctor is their favorite.

Rachel hides quietly in her stall until they all leave (after an absurdly long amount of time). She glances at her watch on the way out and sees that she's dangerously close to being late for class; her perfectionist instincts kick in and she power-walks through the emptying hallways, and the bell rings just before she crosses the threshold of her English room.

"I'm very sorry for my tardiness," she says to her teacher, who just waves her off, so she turns to face the room. Her eyes immediately find her usual desk, the only empty one left, and when she sees Quinn looking at her from the adjacent seat, she almost caves in on herself.

Rachel's eyes drag along the floor as approaches her desk and then sinks into the cold, hard chair. She takes her time getting her notebook out of her bag, turning to a fresh page, and writing today's date in the top right corner. The teacher begins the lesson and she lets out a small sigh of relief; surely Quinn won't try to talk to her during class.

"Rachel."

The whisper shatters the air between them and Rachel flinches; this is the first time she's heard Quinn's voice since their fight.

She keeps her eyes ahead as she pretends to concentrate on the teacher's words. "Hello, Quinn," she says quietly. Quinn doesn't respond right away and she wonders if (and hopes) the conversation will end here.

"I know you're mad at me," Quinn begins, but Rachel really needs her to stop talking or she's going to have an emotional breakdown in front of the entire class.

"Quinn," she interrupts, "If you don't mind, I would really like to focus on the lesson." Her statement is paper-thin but it's the first thing she can come up with, and it's a lot easier than saying "I don't want to hear what you have to say because you're probably just going to further explain why we can't be together and that conversation would undoubtedly end with me crying again."

Quinn doesn't give up. "Rachel," she says, the word barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her voice is thick with emotion and Rachel grips her pencil just a little bit tighter because she feels like she's about to burst. "Please." The syllable slips out unexpectedly and she's not quite sure why she says it. She doesn't even know please what. Just please _something_. She finally clenches her jaw, swallows the lump in her throat, and takes a deep breath. "I'm trying to concentrate," she says, keeping her tone as even as possible.

She's terrified that Quinn will keep trying but their teacher chooses that moment to have them do group work and she hurries to a pair of girls on the other side of the room before she can get stuck working with Quinn. As she makes small talk with the rest of the group she tries not to think about how everything has been the opposite today—avoiding Quinn at all costs, not wanting to talk to her, not wanting to see her at all if she can help it.

She's not sure if she can keep this up all year.

Rachel spends the rest of class paying significantly more attention to the clock than to the assignment. When the bell rings she'll need to exit the room as quickly as possible, before Quinn chases her down or corners her; she knows how fiercely stubborn Quinn can be when she wants something.

(She pretends not to strain her ears so she can hear Quinn's voice across the room.)

The period ends and she vanishes from the room like she's Velma Kelly evading the police. She weaves through the throngs of students without looking back and makes it safely to her locker, but as she twirls the combination, she can't resist the temptation to glance down the hallway.

Rachel looks up just in time to see Quinn turning the corner, Puck's arm slung over her shoulders, and she feels an unexpected and brutal pang of jealousy. She slams her locker shut and storms down the hallway toward her next class, trying desperately to ignore the voice in the back of her head that's telling her she should get used to this.

* * *

><p>By the time Monday morning arrives, Rachel is dreading having to return to school. She's not sure if she can handle another day of avoiding Quinn, let alone a whole week… a whole <em>year<em>.

She doesn't sing in the shower today, nor does she talk to her dads during breakfast except for when she kisses them both goodbye. The first time she actually speaks is when her teacher takes attendance in homeroom, and she's surprised by how quiet her voice is; it's like she doesn't have as much breath as she used to, like she's lost her energy source.

Rachel uses her new alternate routes to get to her classes and again manages to steer clear of Quinn. She starts to feel a war brewing inside of her; one half is relieved that she doesn't have to face Quinn, while the other half would do anything to see that smile, those eyes, hear that voice…

She decides to chance a visit to the choir room at lunch. She needs something familiar, something that makes sense, something that is always there for her no matter what, and her fingertips are aching to touch the smooth ivory keys of the grand. She's so focused on trying to think of a melody that will fit her mood that she almost doesn't hear the voices coming from inside the room, but she does, and she comes to a screeching halt.

"Thanks for doing this for me." Quinn's voice, soft and sincere. The hair on the back of Rachel's neck stands up straight.

"Hey, I'm happy to help." It's Puck.

Rachel's eyes are stinging.

"I told you," he continues, "I got your back, whatever you need."

Rachel remembers seeing his arm draped around her shoulders, that _possessive_ hold, and she feels like her heart is being sawed in half.

There's a short pause. "Do you think she'll understand?" Quinn asks quietly, nervously, and a tear falls down Rachel's cheek.

Puck chuckles. "Quinn, you couldn't be more obvious if you _tried_."

Rachel sniffs as her cheeks grow more and more damp, and when she feels a sob coming, she presses her hand over her mouth and hurries to the nearest bathroom. She fumbles with the lock of the stall door since her vision is so blurry from the tears, but when she finally slides the latch over she sits down on the toilet, drops her head into her hands, and lets go.

How could Quinn do this? How could she drop Rachel so easily and then use Puck to hide her true sexuality? Rachel knows how scared she is of everyone finding out, but she never thought it would be this painful to watch her hide. She can't believe Quinn would just _expect_ her to understand that it needs to be done, or that Puck would _joke_ about the situation. She really thought they were friends, she and Puck—especially after his brief display of concern last week—but now she guesses that perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Her relationship with Quinn, Puck being a reliable friend… all of it.

It takes her the remainder of the period to calm down. When the bell rings she emerges from the stall and splashes some cold water on her face, then dries herself off the best she can before heading to English. As she walks she realizes she's no longer worrying about having to sit through class with Quinn in the room; maybe she should thank Quinn for being so callous, because it makes it a hell of a lot easier for Rachel to ignore her without it hurting anymore.

Quinn is once again sitting at the desk next to hers and her eyes follow Rachel's movements as she takes her seat, but she keeps her gaze pointed determinedly away from the hazel irises. Their teacher begins talking about the chapter they were supposed to read for homework and eventually Quinn gives up and turns her focus to the front of the room.

Quinn doesn't try anything during class and when the bell rings she lets Rachel escape without a fight, and she's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

Rachel sits through her French class with what she's sure is a glowering expression on her face. She's not sure if she's angry or sad or just generally upset, but whatever it is, it's absolutely smothering her. When the final bell rings she all but drags herself to the choir room, slumps into the first chair she comes to, and as the rest of the glee club arrives one by one, she receives several "I wonder what's wrong with her?" looks but nobody asks her about it. Kurt and Blaine are the only ones who really pay attention; they sit on either side of her and Kurt takes her hand. He gives it a firm squeeze and smiles a little, trying to make her do the same, but she ignores him.

"Good afternoon, guys!" Mr. Schuester greets as he strides into the room. His gaze lingers on Rachel's pout but he moves on as if he's afraid she'll give him a long-winded speech about what exactly is bothering her if he looks too long. "What d'you say we start off with some vocal warm-ups?"

Rachel, who's staring at the floor now, hears someone enter the room.

"Puck, nice of you to join us," Mr. Schuester says, and Rachel's insides burn.

There's a second set of footsteps and all chatter in the room goes silent.

"And… _Quinn_," he continues, unable to keep the shock out of his tone. "What a pleasant surprise."

Rachel's head snaps up and her grip on Kurt's hand tightens as she registers the sight of Quinn standing only a few feet away.

"Hey, everyone," she says, waving shyly to the room. "I know this is kind of an abrupt appearance on my part, but…" Her eyes drift to Rachel. "I missed you."

Rachel swallows the lump in her throat and crosses her arms over her chest.

"I know it's been a while," she continues, "but I was wondering if… not that I want to steal the spotlight after being away for so long…"

Puck gives her a gentle nudge in the ribs, his mouth curved into a soft, encouraging smile.

Quinn returns it, blushing a little, and she nibbles her lip before continuing. "Would you guys mind if I sang something?"

There's an uproar of agreement throughout the group.

"Yeah, girl!" Mercedes shouts, and Quinn's cheeks flush again.

She nods to Puck who grabs his guitar and gestures for the rest of the band to get ready, and a few moments later the room is filled with a gentle melody.

Quinn takes a deep breath, looks directly at Rachel, and begins to sing.

* * *

><p><strong>Songs used:<strong>

**"Down" by Jason Walker**

**Reviews would be much appreciated; it was really tough to sort out exactly what Rachel was feeling during all of this, and I really hope I did her POV justice.**

**Also, just to be clear, Rachel mentioned WSS because she would have been rehearsing just for the sake of rehearsing, in preparation for if she gets the role. I don't want you guys to think that she had gotten the part and I just failed to mention it in the narrative.**


	14. Ready

**Mmkay I'm going to stop promising that it won't take me a month to write each chapter, because obviously that never happens, so.**

**ALL THE THANKS TO LEAH FOR BEING THE BEST BETA TO EVER BETA.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>My guitar is packed for tomorrow. You're gonna do great, Q—you're a rockstar.<em>**

Quinn smiles at Puck's text and is in the middle of a reply when there's a knock on her door.

"Quinnie?"

She feels like she's about to be caught doing something wrong; she throws her phone into the pile of laundry on her bed and it disappears among the sweaters and t-shirts. "Yeah?"

The door opens and her mom appears, wearing the same hopeful expression that's been on her face all weekend. "You were out pretty late. How was your evening?" Her tone is eager; it reminds her of the freshman Cheerios she used to hear gossiping in the locker room after practice.

Quinn shrugs. "Fine."

"Were you with Noah again?"

"Yep."

Her mom smiles. "That's wonderful, Quinnie. Did you two have fun?"

"Uh-huh."

She lingers in the doorway, still beaming, and Quinn waits a moment longer before pausing the music that's playing.

"Can I help you with something?"

Her mom opens her mouth and then closes it again, apparently flustered by the question. "No," she begins, but then she takes a breath. "I'm just… It's nice to see you spending time with… you know…" She stumbles like she can't figure out how to say what she's trying to say, but Quinn figures it out on her own and clenches her jaw.

"A guy?" she finishes, turning to face her fully and crossing her arms.

"Well… yes." She's fidgeting with the silver bracelets on her wrist. "Quinnie, I know these last few months have been hard. But I'm glad that we could both move past everything, and that you've... found your way."

The last three words turn Quinn's blood to ice. "Excuse me?"

Her mom stiffens. "Well I—I assumed—"

"Assumed _what_? That I'm magically straight again because I've been hanging out with Puck instead of Rachel?"

She doesn't respond.

"He's helping me out with a song for glee club, Mom." Quinn pauses, looking her straight in the eye. "I'm singing to Rachel tomorrow."

Her eyes widen slightly. "You're… you're what?"

"I'm singing to her," Quinn repeats with her practiced Fabray nonchalance, then holds her mp3 player up. "It's a great song. Do you want to hear it?"

"You're going to... in front of everybody?" Her mom swallows and it looks like she's trying very hard to keep her expression neutral. "Quinnie… you can't."

"It's not your decision," she snaps, her voice rising.

"I just want what's best for you."

The fiercely disciplined Fabray understanding that she must never challenge her parents _splinters_ inside of her, and then she's on her feet. "You want what's _best_ for me? You sided with Dad when I came out, you didn't do _anything_ when I was assaulted…" Her eyes are burning; she's just so sick and tired and _done_ with trying to spare her mom's feelings. "I'm gay, Mom. And I know that sucks for you, but I'm also your _daughter, _and you can't just ignore me when something inconvenient happens."

The corner of her mom's mouth is quivering; she brings up her hand to hide it.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Rachel's the reason why I'm not so _fucking_ miserable anymore, and I find it really ironic that you hate the person who's been there for me in ways you _never_ have."

Her mom blinks and a tear falls down her cheek. "Quinn," she whispers, "that's not true." She wipes the moisture from her eye with a delicate swipe of her finger before meeting Quinn's gaze again. "I know I shouldn't have…" She clears her throat. "If more people know, that's more people that could hurt you. I don't… I don't know how else you expect me to act."

Quinn lets out a small, empty laugh. "Care?"

She looks like she's been slapped in the face. "Quinn—"

"Get _upset_ when I come home with bruises all over me, and not because of _why_ it happened, but because it happened at all. Make a huge fuss about it, drive me to the emergency room, yell at the nurses until somebody checks on me." Quinn swallows the lump in her throat. "Anything but _indifference_."

Her mom is silent; her eyes are wet and her lips are pursed into a thin, pale line.

Quinn tries to keep her voice steady. "I've told Puck and Santana and Brittany, and none of them judged me or rejected me or hurt me. The only people who have reacted negatively are you, Dad, and—" her breath catches "—and those two guys in the park. The glee club… they're my _friends_, and they'll accept me, no matter what." She sniffs and tries not to let her eyes overflow. "I really wish you would, too."

Quinn holds her gaze for an excruciatingly long time before the silence is broken.

"Excuse me," her mom finally murmurs, then leaves the room and gently closes the door behind her, and Quinn realizes this is the first time her mom has been the one to walk away.

A faint "goodnight" is just barely audible from the hallway.

She all but collapses back into her chair and leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk and holding her head in her hands. Everything she said to her mom is floating around her mind, echoing back to her over and over again: _They're my friends. They'll accept me no matter what_. They're things she was absolutely sure about a few seconds ago, but now that she really stops to think about it, doubt is seeping in like a fishing boat slowly taking on water.

Quinn tells herself she's being irrational, that everybody treats Kurt and Blaine and Brittany and Santana the same as everyone else in glee club… but what if? What if she's different, if her situation is the exception, if they choose not to support her? Surely she's done enough to warrant the rejection, given that she shut them all out over the summer with no explanation.

Her chest is tightening as the possibilities slam into her, each new one worse than the last. She could walk in there and sing to Rachel, and Rachel could ignore her. She could walk in there and everyone could tell her to leave before she even has the chance to explain herself. _Anything_ could happen, and the uncertainty is absolutely terrifying.

She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to take even breaths. She can't let herself think this way, not after everything that's happened, not after she's come this far. She just needs to believe that her friends are her _friends_ and that she can trust them with this, with who she really is. She almost wishes she could do a test-run—practice on somebody who knows her well enough to understand the gravity of the situation, whom she can trust not to spread the information, and who will let her control the conversation.

And then it hits her.

Quinn opens her eyes and wipes the moisture from her cheeks and glances at the mess of clothes on her bed. She rifles through it with a trembling hand until she finds her phone and then quietly heads downstairs, tiptoeing through the now-dark house and out the front door. Her car is sitting loyally in the driveway, waiting, and she gets in.

The silence is nearly overwhelming but she likes the privacy she has in here. No one can hear her and it's too dark to see anything; she's invisible, and she lets the feeling wrap around her like a warm, secure blanket.

Her heart is beating wildly against her ribcage as she opens her contact list and scrolls through, all the way past Puck, past Rachel, and there, right before Santana, is the one she wants. Quinn waits a beat before hitting the green button and then the phone is pressed to her ear, her palm sweating against the plastic, and with each new ring she has to remind herself to breathe.

"Quinn," the voice on the other end greets, and she can't help but smile a little at its familiarity. "Hey."

"Hi, Sam," she replies, and she's not sure why she's speaking so softly, given that she's alone in her car.

There's a brief pause and she hears what sounds like Stacey laughing in the background. "Hang on, I'm gonna go out to the porch." The voices in the background get louder and then quieter before a door bangs shut and the excess noise disappears. "It's been a while," he says finally.

She grimaces. The last time they talked was at the beginning of summer, a week after she deleted her Facebook (she had just joined the Skanks and decided there was no longer anything about herself worth sharing). He called to ask if she was okay, because he knew that cancelling the account and all 1,039 friends that went with it wasn't a very Quinn Fabray thing to do, but she didn't let the conversation get far. The exchange consisted of an "_Is everything okay?" _followed by a muttered "_I'm fine_," followed by Sam managing an "_Are you sure—?_" before she hung up on him. He didn't try again, and she both loved him and hated him for that.

"Yeah," she mumbles, nibbling her lip, and decides to ignore the awkwardness and ask him the lamest question possible. "How are you?"

"Uh… I'm good," he says, sounding confused and a little surprised, but pleasant enough. "Kentucky's not too bad. My dad's been working really hard. We're still scraping by, but it's getting better."

Quinn smiles. "That's great, Sam. That's really great."

He chuckles softly then waits for her to speak, but she doesn't. How exactly do you segue into something like this?

"So, what about you?" he asks after another moment, and he sounds hesitant, like he's afraid to ask her anything or she'll hang up on him again. "How're you doing?"

She licks her lips and almost tells him she's fine but the words don't make it out. They remind her too much of last time, and they feel like a lie. "It's kind of complicated," she answers finally.

He laughs again, a little louder. "Your life is always kind of complicated."

The corner of her mouth twitches. "You make a valid point," she says, then exhales slowly. Her pulse races as the words come out of her mouth; she's getting closer and closer to the whole point of this conversation. "It's different this time, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's another stretch of silence and Quinn can tell he's waiting again, because she should probably elaborate on that "yeah," but her lungs have frozen and she can't quite make her voice work.

"Is everything okay?" The question is so quiet, so careful, each word like a cautious footstep on a slippery floor.

"Yeah," she breathes through the lump that's suddenly in her throat, and she can feel the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "There's just some stuff going on, and…" The words stop coming and she rolls her eyes at herself in frustration. God, will talking about this ever get easier?

"And what?" he prompts gently, with more confidence now.

"Um," she says, then takes a few deep breaths, and the hand holding her phone is trembling. "Sam." Her voice cracks.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gay."

The statement slips from her tongue and she lets out a shuddering breath. The silence is ferocious in her ears as she waits for him to say something, and it feels like a year has passed before he finally does.

"Wow. Okay. Cool."

She blinks and arches an eyebrow. "Those are the first three words that came to mind?"

"No, Quinn—I just mean—I'm totally cool with—you know—that. And stuff." Sam pauses. "Wow, can I just start over?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and middle finger. "No, it's fine. You're fine." She tilts her head back against the seat and looks up at the ceiling for inspiration.

"Hey."

Quinn swallows but doesn't say anything.

"You know it's okay, right? You being gay?"

A tear slides down her cheek and she does her best to stifle the sob that smothers her chest.

"It's okay, Quinn."

She struggles to make her voice work. "I'm trying," she starts, but then the words disappear on her again. "I'm just… I'm trying."

Sam waits a beat. "Do your parents know?"

She sniffs. "Yeah."

"What do they think?"

An empty laugh falls from her lips. "That I'm going through a phase."

"They should've seen it coming. You did date a guy nicknamed 'Lady Lips,' after all."

"That's not funny," she replies, but it makes her smile anyway.

He chuckles. "You're right, I'm sorry." He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. "What do _you_ think?"

Quinn bites her lip; she wasn't expecting that question. "Where do I even start?" she asks, shaking her head a little. "I mean… I know who I am. My parents don't accept it, but you and a few other people do. And I just… _every day _I have to convince myself… that it's not wrong." Her cheeks are growing wetter and wetter and she tries to wipe away the moisture with her sleeve. "I'm singing in glee tomorrow, and the song isn't completely obvious or anything, but everyone's probably going to figure it out anyways." She sniffs again and lets out a shaky breath. "And it's probably irrational, but…" The lump in her throat is practically choking her. "I'm so scared."

It's the first time in years that she's admitted a fear to anyone besides Rachel, and it sends a jolt through her body.

Sam doesn't respond right away. "Do you remember when we watched _Avatar_ that one night?"

Quinn sniffs as her eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Yeah. Why?"

"Well, you have Jake Sulley, who's this totally normal dude. He's in the Marines so everyone respects him, and he gets to be a part of top-secret missions and stuff. But then he discovers this other world, Pandora, and he falls in love with it. It feels so right to him, like it's who he was supposed to be this whole time. And that's great and all, but the thing is, he's a Marine and he's expected to follow the rules, and the rules say he's not supposed to want to be Na'vi. But then he's like, _screw the rules, _and he fights against the Sky People because—" He pauses. "Sorry. I'm, um, rambling."

Quinn can't suppress a smile.

"The point is," he continues, "It's just like you said, Quinn. This is who you are. And there's _nothing_ wrong with that."

She blinks another tear away.

"If anyone in glee club gives you crap about it—and I don't think they will—then I'll hitchhike my way back to Lima and kick all their asses for you."

Now Quinn lets out a genuine, honest-to-God laugh. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You're kind of wonderful."

He chuckles softly. "You're pretty wonderful too, Quinn. I hope you know that."

She smiles but then it's interrupted by a yawn, and she glances at the clock on the dashboard. "I should probably go."

"Okay." Sam pauses. "Listen… you can call me whenever, okay? I know I'm not there, but I'm still… you know. Around."

"I will," she says, and it's not a lie.

"Cool. And Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"_Ngari txe'lan mawey livu_."

She blinks. "Pardon?"

"It's Na'vi. 'May your heart be calm.' Basically, don't worry."

Quinn shakes her head but she can't stifle another laugh. "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime. _Txon lefpom_."

"What?"

Sam chuckles again. "Means 'goodnight.'"

She smiles one last time. "Goodnight." The other line disconnects, and then her car is silent.

Quinn takes a deep breath, holds it for a beat, and then lets it out slowly. She's not shaking anymore and her heart is pumping at a normal speed and she feels kind of… _okay_. Like, not in her usual fake "I'm fine" way, but in a genuine panic-attack-over, finally-calming-down, she's-going-to-survive-the-next-twenty-four-hours way.

She wonders how long it will last.

Quinn makes her way back inside and up to her room, changes into her pajamas, and climbs into bed. She grabs her phone again and opens the message she started texting to Puck.

**_Thanks. I hope it goes okay. I'm still_**

She reads the incomplete reply a few times before deleting each letter one by one, and then she starts over.

**_I'm ready._**

* * *

><p>She should have known she wouldn't stay relaxed. From the moment she opens her eyes the next morning, Quinn can't calm down. She almost forgets to shampoo her hair in the shower, and then she brushes her teeth sans toothpaste the first time around, and then she's in the car with her seatbelt on before she realizes her keys are still sitting on the counter.<p>

It's not that she's _nervous_ about this afternoon, exactly, but the waiting is killing her. She knows she has to sit through another day of school, another lunch and English class, with Rachel giving her the cold shoulder, when all she wants to do is lock her in a room and tell her about the song, tell her everything. Her every thought is consumed by it; the song is stuck in her head on repeat and she catches herself scribbling the lyrics in the margins of her notebooks during each class, glancing up once in a while only to mentally beg the clock to tick faster.

At lunch Puck meets her in the choir room, as they discussed during last night's practice session, and as they run through the song, Quinn imagines Rachel showing up right now. She kind of wants her to, just so she can get this over with; hell, she would even do it a capella in the bathroom if the circumstance presented itself.

After the fourth go Puck sets down his guitar and stretches in his chair, letting out a loud groan. "I think I'm all practiced out, Fabray. Let's save some juice for glee club."

Quinn takes a seat on the piano bench and takes a few sips from her water bottle. "Thanks for doing this for me," she says softly.

He grins. "Hey, I'm happy to help. I got your back, whatever you need."

She looks around the room, trying to remember what it feels like to sing for an audience. "Do you think she'll understand?" Her voice is quiet, and shaking just a little.

Puck laughs. "Quinn, you couldn't be more obvious if you _tried_." He leans forward in his chair. "Seriously, just look at her the way you always look at her. She'll get it."

Quinn raises an eyebrow and he shrugs.

"Like she's the only one in the room."

She feels her cheeks burning. "I don't do that."

He snorts. "I'm a _dude_ and I see it."

"Shut up," she mumbles, busying herself with her water bottle again.

Puck simply smirks and starts putting his guitar back in its case. "See you at showtime, Q," he says as he stashes it in the corner and then heads out the door, but not before tossing a wink over his shoulder.

Quinn rolls her eyes and shakes his head, but it makes her smile all the same. She considers killing the last few minutes of lunch in the library, but a small part of her wants to just stay here, is hoping that maybe, just maybe, Rachel might come. It is, for all intents and purposes, her choir room; Quinn doubts there's a single person in this school who's in here more than her.

She rotates on the bench until she's facing the piano and her fingertips brush the keys. It occurs to her that just a few weeks ago she was playing alone in the auditorium, dressed in black and reeking of cigarettes, pushing away anyone who tried to care and clinging to people who didn't care at all. She still remembers the song she played that one night, how even though it broke her heart, every note seemed to understand her perfectly.

Or, at least, they used to. As she listens to the melody in her head she realizes that it's still beautiful, but it just doesn't fit anymore; the song is the same as it used to be, but she isn't.

A new song drifts through her head and her fingers start to play of their own accord. This melody is hopeful, graceful, calm—everything that the other song wasn't—and she feels the certainty of each chord seep into her fingers, up her arm, until she's completely engulfed. There are lyrics but Quinn ignores them, focusing instead on the music resonating from the piano and letting it fill her from head to toe as if she and the piano were all that existed in the universe.

She makes her way through the end of the song, taking her time with the outro, and the bell rings as she plays the final chord. She holds the keys, though, letting the sound fade away completely before she gets up and heads to English class.

Nobody even attempts to sit in Rachel's seat this time, even though Rachel walks in right before the bell, with the same red eyes she had on Friday. As she approaches her desk, Quinn sees something new in them, something different—nearly complete apathy, with murky anger simmering right below the surface.

It's so out of place, so unlike Rachel, that Quinn's gaze lingers for longer than it should, but Rachel stares straight ahead as if she isn't even there. It hurts, but it's her own fault that Rachel's acting this way so she sucks it up and tries to focus on the lesson, reminding herself that there's only one more period until glee club, one more period until she can start trying to fix this.

She only takes notes for three minutes before giving up, turning to a blank sheet, and writing the lyrics down over and over again.

* * *

><p>"You ready?" asks Puck, leaning against the locker next to hers in the emptying hallway.<p>

"Ready," Quinn replies, quiet but sure, and together they head to glee club. Just before they reach the doorway, he gently punches her on the shoulder.

"Knock 'em dead," he says with a grin, and then they're in the choir room and everyone stops talking and all eyes are on her. She immediately zeroes in on Rachel, who's sitting front row center and looks _pissed._

"And… _Quinn_," Mr. Schuester greets, sounding a bit confused. "What a pleasant surprise."

When he says her name Rachel abruptly looks up and their eyes meet for a single brutal moment before she makes herself look away.

"Hey, everyone," she begins, waving a little because she's not sure what else to do. "I know this is kind of an abrupt appearance on my part, but…" She can't stop her gaze from drifting back to Rachel. "I missed you."

Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and Quinn licks her lips nervously.

"I know it's been a while, but I was wondering if… not that I want to steal the spotlight after being away for so long…" Puck gives her a light elbow in the ribs and his smirk is confident and encouraging. She feels herself blush a little as she smiles back. "Would you guys mind if I sang something?"

Everyone nods and voices their approval all at once, Santana and Brittany smiling knowingly from the back row.

"Yeah, girl!" Mercedes calls out, clapping a few times, and Quinn's cheeks burn again. She nods to Puck, his guitar already strapped to his chest, and he gestures for the rest of the band to begin.

The drummer starts first, playing solo for a few seconds before everyone else jumps in, and then Quinn is looking Rachel square in the eye, and everything else disappears.

_I'm wearing thin  
><em>_I couldn't tell you the city I'm in  
><em>_The streets and the buildings  
><em>_And places I've been  
><em>_Or where the stars go when it's daylight again  
><em>_Or where the time went  
><em>_Oh, who can save me now?_

Rachel is staring at her hard, her eyebrows pulled together in concentration like she's trying to figure out what's going on.

_My life in the rearview, I'm running from Jesus  
><em>_Don't know where I'm going to  
><em>_I got nothing to lose, I'm fighting my demons  
><em>_Been looking for someone like you  
><em>_I've been looking for someone like you_

Quinn watches her expression slowly morph from confusion to surprise to something else, something she can't quite figure out.

_So sing me a song I know all the words to  
><em>_And I'll sing along  
><em>_Could you be my savior?  
><em>_Been out here too long  
><em>_When I've just been looking for somewhere to belong  
><em>_Barely holding on  
><em>_So can you save me now?_

Quinn not sure if she's imagining the glassy shine in Rachel's eyes, but she does know that her own are burning with the beginnings of tears as she powers through the second chorus. The bridge approaches and Puck is strumming hard with the beat; she feels the momentum building and fills her lungs with oxygen before giving it all she's got.

_When the stars explode  
><em>_And I'm all alone  
><em>_When they start to see the smoke  
><em>_When I've finally burned out  
><em>_I'll need someone to carry me home safe and sound_

Her eyes meet Rachel's brown irises again. They don't look cold or angry or even blank anymore. They look like Rachel.

_My life in the rearview, I'm running from Jesus  
>D<em>_on't know where I'm going to  
><em>_I got nothing to lose, I'm fighting my demons  
><em>_Been looking for someone like you  
><em>_My life in the rearview, I'm running from Jesus  
><em>_Don't know where I'm going to  
><em>_I got nothing to lose, I'm fighting my demons  
><em>_Been looking for someone like you  
><em>_I've been looking for someone like you  
><em>_I've been looking for someone like you_

The band continues for a bit before slowing to a graceful stop but Quinn barely hears them. She's silently pleading to Rachel, all but praying that she understood, and she completely forgets about the rest of the group until there's an enthusiastic round of applause.

"Quinn, that was excellent!" Mr. Schuester says, clapping along with everyone else. "I've never heard you put so much power behind your vocals before. Very well done."

She mumbles a small thank you but she's still studying Rachel's expression, trying to figure out what she's thinking.

"What inspired you to sing that?" he asks, and Quinn's heart skips a beat. "I mean, it was pretty out-of-the-blue… what made you—"

"Mr. Schue, if I may," Kurt interrupts suddenly from his seat beside Rachel, "While I am just as enthused about Quinn's return as you are, need I remind you of how much work we have to get done to get ready for sectionals?"

Santana pipes up from the back. "Even though that sounded disgustingly like something Berry would say and now I'm a little terrified that he's gonna come to school tomorrow wearing rainbow argyle… Lord Gaga is right. We got business to take care of."

Mr. Schuester glances between them for a moment. "Uh, okay. Great initiative, you two. Let's get cracking on this week's assignment! Quinn, are you with us?"

Quinn is grateful to escape the conversation and smiles shyly. "Absolutely," she answers and then climbs up the risers to sit next to Santana.

"Nice song, Q," she says with a smirk, and Quinn's cheeks burn.

"Thanks."

For what seems like the hundredth time today she tunes out the lecture. Rachel is sitting a few rows ahead of her and to the right, and Quinn can't tear her eyes away; she's missed this girl so much, and now that she no longer seems angry or upset, she stares unabashedly at the beauty in front of her.

About halfway through practice Rachel suddenly looks back at her, holding her gaze for a few seconds before returning her attention to Mr. Schuester, and Quinn is surprised her heart doesn't give out. It was bad enough having to sit through a lesson before the song, but now that it's over with, it's damn near unbearable.

"Alright everyone, that's enough for today. Start brainstorming setlist ideas for tomorrow's practice."

Quinn snaps to attention at Mr. Schuester's dismissal and she has to force her body not to immediately launch itself in Rachel's direction. Instead she stays seated for a few extra moments and then takes her time standing up.

"Go get your girl," Santana murmurs quietly before striding over to Mr. Schue and exploding into a speech about solos and crappy song choices.

Quinn smiles, takes a deep breath, and with their teacher very much distracted, she heads for Rachel.

She's still standing by her seat, slowly gathering her things, and she looks up right before Quinn stops beside her.

"Hey," Rachel says quietly, her eyes on the floor at first, but then they rise up to Quinn's and she feels her throat go dry.

"Hey," she replies, her voice just as soft. "Do you think…" Her heart is pounding and she licks her lips before she speaks again. "Would you like to come to my house? To talk?" She doesn't know if her mom will be around, but she doesn't care. She's not going to hide this part of her anymore.

"Talk, yes," Rachel says, and then her mouth is curving into the smallest of smiles. "But maybe let's go to mine."

Quinn nods and together they walk out the door, and that's when she decides she'll never again take walking down the hallway with Rachel for granted.

* * *

><p><strong>Songs used:<strong>

**"Come Home" by OneRepublic (the song Quinn plays on the piano)  
><strong>**"Someone Like You" by Boys Like Girls**


	15. Breathe Part 1

**This took goddamn _forever_ to write. And by forever I mean several late-night Google Docs sessions with Leah The Best Beta Ever I Love You So.**

* * *

><p>Quinn lets out a breath of relief as she follows Rachel through the front door. She's missed this house; within these walls she feels warm, safe, <em>loved<em>, and in these two weeks that she and Rachel have gotten closer, it's become more of a home to her than the one ten minutes away where she sleeps every night.

They haven't spoken since glee club but the silence is comfortable; they know they have time, that there's no rush, that there's nothing here that can get in their way.

Suddenly Rachel glances back at her and then holds out her hand, and Quinn takes it without a second thought. Their fingers intertwine and it feels so _right _that she doesn't know how she's gone her entire life without this.

They go up the stairs and Rachel doesn't let go until they get to her room, and she sits on her bed with her back against the pillows. "Come sit?" she asks, but instead of gesturing to the foot of the bed, she pats the space right next to her.

Quinn obliges, her body intensely aware of how close it is to Rachel's, and for a long moment neither of them speaks.

"I missed you," she whispers.

"I missed you, too," Rachel replies softly, and Quinn's heart nearly bursts.

Quinn swallows. "I'm so sorry," she continues, studying the floral pattern in the comforter. "For everything."

Rachel shakes her head. "Quinn, you have nothing to be sorry about. I'm the one who—I was being unreasonable, I shouldn't have…" She sighs and turns to face Quinn. "_I'm_ sorry. For not understanding what you were going through, a-and for kicking you out." Rachel's eyes are molten chocolate. "I was awful."

She reaches up without thinking and cups Rachel's cheek, her thumb brushing back and forth with a feather-light touch. "Hey," she murmurs, her heart skipping a beat when Rachel's eyes briefly droop closed, "You're not awful." Quinn lets her hand slip away but keeps their gazes locked. "I shouldn't have kissed you when I wasn't sure about everything."

Rachel nibbles her bottom lip and her cheeks flush. "I'm glad you did."

The corner of her mouth quirks and she takes a deep breath; this is finally her chance to say everything she wants to say, and she's not going to mess it up.

"I'm not ready for everything," she begins, and Rachel's expression falters slightly but she lets Quinn continue. "I'm not ready for everyone to know. But I _am_ ready to stop hiding from the people I care about… from the people who care about _me_." She pauses and licks her lips. "I told Puck and Brittany and Santana what was going on."

"Going on with you, or going on with us?"

"Um...us," she answers, suddenly feeling guilty. "Is that okay? I just, I needed someone to talk to about everything, to help sort things out in my head."

She nods. "I understand. I talked to Kurt and Blaine about it. About us."

Quinn thinks for a moment. "That's why he interrupted Mr. Schue after I sang."

Rachel nods again. "I assumed as much. And I guess Santana's distractions make more sense now, as well."

As Quinn shifts the information around in her brain, something hits her. "I think... did we out each other? Is that... what we call this?"

Rachel's eyes widen but then she just looks pensive.

"I mean, does it even count as outing if you tell another gay person?" Quinn asks, and she's not sure if she's joking or not; but she does know she's not panicking, and that surprises the hell out of her.

"First of all, _yes_," Rachel replies, "and second of all I also told my dad, so that... actually... doesn't change your point," she finishes awkwardly, starting to get flustered. "But still!"

Quinn nibbles her lip. "Well, I did tell Puck. But he's _Puck_. And the thing is, when I told them… it was _okay_. I don't know why it took me so long to figure it out, that they wouldn't judge me like my parents do. That they love me."

Rachel bites her lip. "Can I make another confession?"

"Of course," she replies softly.

She looks down again. "I thought you were using him as a beard," she says, and her voice is small. "He had his arm around you the other day, and then I heard you guys in the choir room during lunch. I thought you were… _with_ him."

Quinn frowns. "What did you hear?"

"That he would do whatever you needed him to do. And you were wondering if I would understand."

"Oh."

Rachel picks at the hem of her skirt. "That's why I've been so angry."

Quinn puts her hand over Rachel's and the girl meets her eyes. "There was never anything going on with me and Puck," she says, and her voice steady and sincere. "He was helping me try to fix things with _you_."

She smiles sheepishly. "Remind me to thank him for that." Her gaze dips to her lap for a moment before it returns to Quinn's. "That song you sang was beautiful. It was really brave of you to do that."

She feels her cheeks burn. "I just wanted you to know that I…" She bites her tongue midsentence; she doesn't want to hit Rachel with that speech quite yet. "I care about you. A lot." Quinn looks straight into those gorgeous brown eyes. "_So _much."

Rachel gives her a watery smile. "I care about you a lot, too."

Quinn waits a beat. "Rach…how do _you_ feel about all of this? I mean, we're always talking about me and _my_ issues…but what about you?"

"I…" She pauses and takes a deep breath. "Just… everything has happened so fast. Finn and I broke up a _week _ago and—" Rachel sees her expression falter. "I'm not in love with him anymore; I haven't been for a while," she says firmly, "and you're not a rebound, Quinn. I've felt like this for…" She shakes her head. "It's kind of poetic, actually. That night when he ended it and I went to your house… you were so gentle, and you _listened_, and when you pulled that blanket over us…" She trails off as her voice thickens. "Falling asleep in your arms… nothing has felt like that. Ever. And that's when I realized that I wanted to be more than your friend... and that I've felt like that for quite some time. I just didn't _understand_ what I was feeling until last week."

Quinn's heart is racing. "You… this whole time…" She swallows; her mouth is dry. "Rach, why didn't you—?"

"Because that's not what you needed. You needed someone to be there for you and share your pain and understand. You had _just_ come out to me, _just _started to trust me, and I couldn't take advantage of you like that."

Quinn stares at her for a long moment. "Thank you," she whispers finally, and her voice cracks.

Rachel lets out a shaky breath, like she's relieved. "Quinn?" she asks after a beat.

"Yeah?"

"I'm so sorry for creating more tension between you and your mom."

Quinn shakes her head. "Rachel, it would've been there with or without your help. It _has_ been there, for a while now… before you ever showed up at my house." She licks her lips. "We kind of got into a fight last night."

Rachel's eyes widen. "What happened?"

Quinn shrugs. "I stood up for myself. I told the truth. I decided I was done trying to protect her from something that only she sees as a threat."

A tear slides down Rachel's cheek and Quinn's eyebrows pull together.

"Rachel, what's wrong?"

The girl sniffs and wipes away the moisture. "I'm sorry. It's just… The way I treated you the other day. I shouldn't have kicked you out." Another tear falls. "I feel like I betrayed you."

Quinn holds Rachel's face and uses her thumbs to brush away the tears. "I'm not mad at you," she whispers, and the girl smiles a little but the corners of her lips are quivering. "Rachel." Quinn waits until Rachel's eyes meet her own. "I forgive you."

She shakes her head. "You don't have to do that, Quinn. I'll understand if you're still upset with me."

Quinn lowers her hands and arches an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"

Rachel blinks and her cheeks turn slightly red. "What?"

"After everything I've ever done to you—"

"That was different. Slushies and name-calling and fighting over Finn and that time you slapped me at prom…"—Quinn grimaces—"Those are _nothing _compared to…It's your _sexuality_, Quinn, and your _safety_, and it wasn't fair of me to pressure you or be upset that you were scared." She tucks her hair behind her ear and avoids Quinn's gaze. "You have so much more at stake than I do, and I'm so sorry I didn't understand that sooner."

"Rachel," Quinn says again, and this time it takes Rachel longer to look at her. "I forgive you."

Her lips curve into a small smile. "Well, for the record, I forgive you too. Even though I already did, and even though I was never angry with you in the first place."

Quinn shakes her head. "I still don't understand how."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Quinn, we've already had this conversation."

"Yeah, but—"

Without any warning Rachel leans forward and kisses her, and even though the contact only lasts for a few seconds, Quinn's mind goes completely blank.

"I'm sorry," Rachel breathes, "I just really need you to stop talking about being a bad person, because you're not." She pauses. "And I've wanted to do that since we left glee club."

For an endless moment neither of them moves; their faces are only an inch apart and their breath is hot against each other's cheeks, and as Quinn looks from brown eyes to lips and back again, she can see Rachel doing the same. She feels like she's back in last week, right before she pulled away from Rachel and watched the hurt crash into her features.

She doesn't back away this time.

The instant she starts to move Rachel does the same and they meet each other halfway, and then their lips are together and they're kissing _each other_, and it's so much better than those tiny, one-sided kisses.

They separate gently and Rachel licks her lips and it's just about the hottest thing Quinn has ever seen. She's looking at Quinn that same way she did when she was singing to her in the basement, except now she knows _exactly _what that look means.

A split second later they're kissing again and Rachel's hands slip around the back of her neck and pull her closer. She tilts her head just so and Rachel moans against her mouth, and when Rachel starts to lean back against the pillows Quinn realizes they're getting extremely horizontal.

"Rachel," she gasps, trying to wrench their lips apart long enough to speak, and the other girl freezes under her.

"What is it?" She looks terrified, like she's worried this is all too good to be true and she's about to be rejected again.

"I…I want to be with you. I want to be _us_." She swallows. "I want you. I've _been_ wanting you. And I'm done pretending otherwise."

Rachel laughs. "Well, if this is you pretending not to want me, I can't wait to see what happens when you _stop_ pretending." Her eyes dart back and forth between Quinn's, and for a moment the only sound is their breathing. "I want to be us, too," she whispers, and then she leans up at the same time that Quinn leans down and their lips connect again.

Rachel's mouth is soft and gentle and _perfect_ and Quinn can't get enough of it, but then she dips down to Rachel's neck and _wow_, she likes kissing there just as much. She nips lightly at Rachel's pulse point then drags her tongue over the same spot and Rachel gasps. Quinn takes advantage of Rachel's open mouth and kisses her again, this time brushing her tongue against Rachel's, and their moans blend together.

Quinn's mind is going at a million miles an hour; she's spent so long wanting to do these things, to kiss Rachel, to touch her in ways that a normal friend couldn't, and now that she's finally here she feels like there's not enough time in a day to make up for the seventeen years she spent not kissing this girl.

Her hand finds Rachel's hip and she brushes her thumb along the bare skin above the waistband of her skirt. Rachel shivers and Quinn is just about to do it again when there are two quick knocks on the door and then it opens.

"Hey, babygirl," Hiram greets, and Quinn freezes and looks up in alarm. "Is that Quinn's car out fr—?" He stops in midsentence when he sees them and his eyes go from Rachel to Quinn and back to Rachel a few times. "I guess that answers that question," he says, his tone thick with warning, and he gives Rachel a look.

"Uh. Hi, Mr. Berry," she mumbles, scrambling to get off of Rachel as the brunette simultaneously sits up and smoothes her skirt.

"Hi, Daddy," she says brightly, giving him her best innocent smile. "Did you have a good day at work? I know how trying your clients can be. School was educational and engaging as per usual, and glee club was also quite productive. Um, as you can see, Quinn and I have made up."

He nods with raised eyebrows. "Yes, I can see that." He opens his mouth to speak again but then changes his mind. "Your father will be home in two hours," he says to Rachel. "We'll all have dinner together, and then we'll talk." His final statements are directed at both of them and Quinn nods quickly.

Rachel's posture gets impossibly straighter. "Yes, Daddy."

Hiram's gaze lingers on them a moment longer before he departs, and he doesn't close the door behind him.

Quinn rifles a hand through her hair and slumps back against the pillows. "I can't believe that just happened."

Rachel laughs softly and shifts so they're sitting side-by-side and Quinn slips her arm around her waist. "I'm sure it's not a big deal," she says, placing her hand on Quinn's and brushing her thumb back and forth over the back of her palm.

"Do your dads hate me?" she asks quietly.

Rachel's finger stills. "Of _course_ not! Quinn, they love you."

"Even after…I mean…" She sighs and looks at Rachel. "I keep hurting you."

Rachel holds her gaze. "That's not all you do, though. You don't… you have no idea how _good _you are." She pauses. "They're not going to hold the past against you. I won't let them."

Quinn nods slowly and bites her lip. "Okay."

Rachel sighs. "He's only like this because he saw how upset I was after… Quinn, I was upset with _myself_," she says when she sees the guilt on her face. "I couldn't believe I pushed you away after everything you've been through. It's not that he dislikes you; he's just… very protective, and he doesn't want to see me get hurt. And it hurt me _so much _that I hurt you."

Quinn's eyes are burning and she can see the beginnings of tears shining in Rachel's as well. She reaches up and ghosts her fingertips along the girl's jaw. "Then why have you been ignoring me?" she murmurs. "I tried to talk to you on Friday and you shut me out. Why?"

Rachel bites her lip. "I was so sure you were just going to tell me that we couldn't be together. I just... I didn't want to hear it again." She sniffs and a tear falls. "Quinn, I'm so sorry."

Quinn wipes away the moisture. "I wish you would've let me explain why I freaked out."

Rachel leans into her touch. "I wish I had, too."

"But we're here now, and that's what matters," she continues, and then smiles. "And I'd just... _really_ like to kiss you again, if that's okay."

Rachel smiles through her tears and a small giggle bursts from her throat. She glances at the open door for a moment before getting up and closing it, and then she walks back to the bed and climbs onto the mattress so she's kneeling in front of Quinn. "I'd actually like to kiss _you_ again," she says, leaning in until their noses are nearly touching, "if that's okay."

"Yeah," Quinn breathes, and Rachel's mouth is on hers before the syllable even makes it all the way out.

She's so wrapped up in Rachel's taste on her tongue that she barely notices when she's not sitting up anymore; but suddenly her back is against the mattress and Rachel's hands are planted on either side of her head and their kisses are slow and deep.

Every sense she has is completely focused on, _consumed_ by, Rachel Berry. Silky brown hair is tickling her neck and the smell of Rachel's shampoo is everywhere; her fingertips are exploring the contour of each individual rib beneath the girl's shirt; her ears are filled with the sound of Rachel's breathless pants as their lips connect again and again, and Quinn can't fathom ever wanting to stop.

Rachel shifts and slowly settles her body on top of Quinn's, and she sucks in a ragged breath at the sensation. This is the closest she's ever been to Rachel, physically, and just… _oh_. Her mouth moves to Quinn's neck, trailing soft kisses along the flesh there, but then her lips pause against her skin and she sighs, her hot breath making goosebumps erupt all over Quinn's body.

"Have I mentioned how much I missed you?" Rachel murmurs, turning her head and letting her cheek rest against Quinn's collarbone. She drapes her arm over Quinn's stomach and Quinn's fingertips explore the spaces between her knuckles.

Quinn decides "I missed you too" isn't nearly enough to sum up everything she's feeling right now, so she just holds Rachel tightly against her and kisses her forehead. It's so different this time, snuggling with her, because now she's not upset and Quinn isn't trying to comfort her; this is them being together because they want to be together, them knowing how they both feel and not being afraid to act on it.

She's never felt so free.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so just to clarify, there's still much more story left to go. I have several more chapters planned out and I'm considering going even further than I originally planned, but we'll see.<strong>

**I would really appreciate your feedback on this chapter, perhaps more than any other chapter so far, because I worked REALLY hard on their talk. So if you, I don't know, wanted to get this fic to 300 reviews, I wouldn't necessarily mind. JUST A THOUGHT.**


	16. Breathe Part 2

Wow so I suck because Netflix because Grey's Anatomy because addicting, well-written television. I'm not gonna bother you with a long intro. NEW CHAPTER. READ. YAY.

* * *

><p>The thick scent of shepherd's pie floats up from the kitchen as they stand at the top of the stairs, hands joined between them, Rachel's thumb brushing back and forth over her knuckle.<p>

"Ready?" Rachel asks, giving her hand a light squeeze.

Quinn squeezes back. "Ready."

They head down the stairs, past the foyer and into the kitchen, and as Leroy turns around to greet them, Quinn resists the urge to let go of Rachel's hand. They've _just_ started being affectionate with each other, let alone around anyone else, and it's a bit unnerving to have eyes on them now.

"Hello, dear," he says to Rachel. "Quinn, it's good to see you again!"

She smiles. "You too, Mr. Berry."

He throws her a playful frown. "Come on, what's this 'Mr. Berry' nonsense? I told you to call me Leroy."

"Sorry," she says, her cheeks burning slightly. Ever since Hiram walked in on them, she's felt like she's starting from scratch with Rachel's dads. She's not just Rachel's friend from school anymore; she's her… well, she's…

"Come, come, sit," Hiram instructs as he sets the huge dish of food on the table. "Behold—vegan shepherd's pie, made from scratch by yours truly."

Quinn's mouth is already watering as she takes a seat next to Rachel. "That looks delicious."

Hiram sighs. "It does, doesn't it?"

Leroy chuckles. "Would you like us to leave the room for a moment so you and your dinner can have some quality time together?"

"Oh, please. You fawn over your pasta sauce all the time."

"Because it's damn good pasta sauce."

Hiram dramatically places his hand over his heart. "Are you suggesting that my shepherd's pie isn't as good as your sauce?"

"You both possess superior cooking abilities," Rachel interrupts, "Can we please eat now?"

Hiram opens his mouth to speak but Rachel cuts him off before he can get another word in.

"Actually, I'd like to say a few things. First and foremost—Daddy, you already know this due to what you witnessed this afternoon, and I assume you told Dad, so you may _both_ be aware of this recent… _development_, but I'll say it anyway for the sake of complete clarity." She takes a breath. "Quinn and I are together."

Leroy picks up his wine glass and Hiram fills it without a word, neither of them taking their eyes off Rachel.

"Secondly, my relationship with her is neither a post-Finn rebound nor a phase. My feelings for her are very strong and very real and I would appreciate it if you treated them as such."

Quinn takes a long drink of water and swallows hard.

"Thirdly, I know you both are aware of mine and Quinn's somewhat rocky beginnings, and that you might therefore be wary of us engaging in a romantic relationship, but please understand that we've both changed, a-and grown, and—" Rachel glances at Quinn, her eyes burning with sincerity, before she looks at her dads again. "And I trust her completely."

Hiram and Leroy exchange glances, then look at Quinn, then look at Rachel.

She adjusts the position of her fork on top of her napkin. "That was it. Please pass the rolls."

Hiram hands her the basket of bread. "Well, in that case… I just have one question for Quinn."

Quinn's heart leaps into her throat. "Um. Yeah?"

He looks at her with grave seriousness. "Would you prefer a piece from the corner or from the middle?" He smiles and Quinn lets out a breath of relief.

"A corner piece, please."

"So, any word on West Side Story yet?" Leroy asks as Hiram serves the shepherd's pie.

Rachel sighs. "No. Miss Pillsbury found a rat in her apartment over the weekend so she's using all of her sick days to disinfect everything. I've left her several voicemails about the matter, because if I do get the role of Maria I'll need as much time as possible to memorize my lines…"

Quinn almost chokes on her water. "Rachel, when we watched the movie in glee club you were whispering the words the entire time."

Her cheeks burn red. "As I was saying," she continues, "She hasn't returned any of my calls."

"I'm sure you'll find out soon, sweetheart," Hiram says. "How's the shepherd's pie, Quinn?"

She finishes chewing and swallows. "_Amazing_."

He leans forward a bit. "How does it compare to, uh, certain _other_ things you've tried at our house?"

The image of him walking in on her with Rachel is immediately in her head and she starts to choke on her own saliva.

"Pasta sauce, for example," he continues, his voice low and conspiratorial, and Quinn realizes he was talking about the food.

Leroy points his fork in Quinn's direction as she gets her breathing under control again. "Don't answer that."

She blushes and takes another bite. "So, Rach, who else auditioned?"

"Nice subject change," he says with a wink. "Very subtle."

Rachel doesn't miss a beat. "Mercedes's name was the only one I recognized on the sign-up sheet. And while I'm quite certain that I put more time and effort into my vocal training…" She nibbles her bottom lip. "She really does have an incredible voice."

Quinn reaches over and takes Rachel's hand under the table. "I'm sure nailed your audition."

Rachel squeezes back and smiles, and Quinn feels her own smile grow.

"Speaking of people destined for greatness… You, my dear," Hiram says to Quinn, "have some excellent photography skills."

She looks at him blankly.

"We saw those pictures you took of Rachel singing," Leroy explains, and Quinn's heart skips a beat. "They were absolutely incredible!"

She completely forgot about those photos. She feels her face heat up and she looks down at her food, pushing it around her plate with her fork. "Thank you," she mumbles shyly.

"Have you ever considered taking photos for the local paper?" Hiram asks. "Heck, even the yearbook would be lucky to have you."

Quinn shrugs. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"I think you definitely should. You've got an impressive talent."

She can barely breathe; she's sat at the dinner table at home and listened to her parents go on and on about her looks, her grades, her Cheerios accomplishments… but never about her hobbies, the things she does purely for fun.

"You should have seen her today in glee club," Rachel adds, beaming. "She did an amazing solo performance."

"That's great!" Leroy says. "I'll bet you have a _marvelous_ voice."

Rachel smiles proudly. "She really does." Their hands are still joined and Rachel does that thing with her thumb again, brushing it back and forth along Quinn's knuckles, and Quinn has to remind herself to keep eating even though all she wants is to close her eyes and focus on Rachel's touch.

Suddenly the contact is gone and Quinn glances at Hiram and Leroy, wondering if they're giving them disapproving looks, but they're now wrapped up in their own conversation about show choir rankings and therefore paying no attention to Quinn and Rachel.

"You know," Rachel says to the whole table, even though only Quinn is listening, "Water tastes so much better with a slice of lemon. Really, the added flavor brings so much zest to the overall drinking experience; it makes it a truly satisfying beverage." She rises from her chair. "I'm going to get a slice of lemon. Would anyone else like a slice of lemon?"

Quinn is only halfway through her answer of "Um… yes please?" before Rachel goes to the fridge and pulls out a lemon, then gets a knife from one of the drawers and slices it into even pieces.

She puts them all into a small dish and brings it to the table, and as she sits back down she moves her chair over a few inches, effectively removing the space between her and Quinn.

She sees Quinn watching her and the corner of her mouth twitches. "They're also an excellent source of Vitamin C," she says simply, but then she's pressing the side of her leg against Quinn's and they're touching from their ankles to their knees, and Quinn has to take a deep breath to steady her heartbeat.

"Quinn, have you ever been to a Broadway show before?"

Her gaze snaps to Hiram and she takes a lemon slice for her drink. "Uh. No, I haven't."

He and Leroy gasp dramatically. "Unacceptable," Leroy murmurs.

"Well, I was planning to save my money for all of the shows Rachel's going to be in," she replies, smiling at her, and Rachel blushes.

"Don't be ridiculous. I would obviously get you complimentary tickets."

"Cheers to _that_," Hiram says, holding up his glass.

"Cheers," Leroy and Quinn repeat and they all clink their glasses together. As Quinn sips her water she feels fingertips ghost along the outside of her thigh and she glances at Rachel, who looks like she's trying not to giggle.

Quinn suppresses a smirk and slowly shifts her foot to hook around Rachel's ankle and nudge her leg closer. Rachel clears her throat and takes another bite of food.

"I think this is the best shepherd's pie you've ever made. You've outdone yourself, Daddy."

Hiram nods once. "Thanks, babygirl. You hear that, Leroy? I've outdone myself."

He rolls his eyes. "Careful, dear. You wouldn't want to peak so early in your culinary career."

Hiram leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. "What do you think, Rach? Should I retire and let your father do the cooking from now on?"

"I think if you two keep going with this _Iron Chef_ mentality, I'll need to expand my exercise routine."

Quinn's mouth goes dry at the thought of Rachel hot and sweaty in workout clothes and she downs the rest of her water, almost swallowing the lemon slice whole when Rachel begins to caress the back of her palm with her thumb.

"What about you, Quinn?" Leroy asks, "Do you like to cook?"

She shrugs. "I've never really cooked much, but I know the basics. I watched a lot of _Food Network_ last year." She stiffens after the sentence leaves her mouth; it was in the month after she'd had Beth that she drowned herself in _Lifetime_ movies and _Emeril Live_. She liked the cooking shows because Emeril and Rachel Rae always made it look so easy to create perfection, and because everything always went according to plan. She liked the cheesy movies because even though _nothing_ went the way it was supposed to, and there were dramatic twists and turns all the way through, there was always a happy ending.

But Quinn can't talk about any of this right now.

"Dinner was delicious," she continues quickly, eating a final bite of shepherd's pie.

"On a scale of one to… say… my pasta sauce…" Leroy begins.

"Don't answer that," Hiram interrupts, and they all laugh. "Quinn, I'd like to apologize on behalf of my husband. You don't deserve to be harassed like this during what should be a relaxing meal."

Leroy whacks him on the arm. "_Excuse me_."

"I love you," he replies in a sing-song voice, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"I love you too, dear," Leroy sighs playfully, then stands up and takes his and Hiram's plates.

"You're the best, hon."

"Don't you forget it," he says, squeezing Hiram's shoulder and then collecting everyone else's plates. "Quinn, feel like helping me with the dishes?" Leroy asks with a smile.

"Of course," she says, squeezing Rachel's hand before getting up and helping to clear the glasses from the tbale.

"Come help me pick out a movie, babygirl," Hiram says to Rachel, who reluctantly accompanies him to the living room, and then Quinn and Leroy are alone in the kitchen.

"What should I do?" she asks, joining him at the sink.

He tosses her a dishcloth. "I'll wash, you dry." He turns on the faucet and rinses the first plate. "We're not usually this old-fashioned, but the dishwasher's broken."

She shrugs. "I don't mind."

Leroy squirts soap onto a sponge and starts scrubbing the food off of the plate. "How are you feeling?"

She fiddles with the dishcloth. "Honestly? A little nervous. But I'm also excited, and really, really happy." She sighs. "Rachel is amazing."

Leroy laughs softly. "I meant, how are your ribs feeling?"

"Oh. Um." Quinn tries to keep her breathing steady. "They're much better. Still sore, but the bruises are fading."

He nods as he washes away the soap. "That's good to hear."

She swallows thickly and takes the plate when he hands it to her, and for a moment they work in silence.

"When I was in college," Leroy begins suddenly, "I was one of the few out kids on campus. My friends were all fine with my sexuality, and for the most part, I was, too. I was free from high school, free from my hometown, and I felt like I could finally be me."

Quinn finishes drying the first plate and he hands her another one.

"We all went to a party one night, but I had a headache so I ended up leaving early. My roommate offered to go back to the dorm with me but I told him I'd be fine walking back alone."

She thinks she might wear a hole through the plate with how hard she's wiping it.

"I wasn't wearing anything particularly 'gay' that night," he continues, using air quotes, "but I walked past this particular group of guys who had clearly been drinking… and I guess they didn't like what they saw."

He passes her another dish and she almost drops it.

"I'll spare you the finer details, but essentially, they dragged me behind one of the dorms and beat me until I couldn't move."

Quinn can feel tears burning behind her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she breathes through the lump in her throat. She suddenly feels like she's about to burst at the seams, and before she knows it, the words are coming out. "Two guys attacked me in the park last Sunday."

Leroy doesn't react except for clenching his jaw.

"But you already knew that."

He sighs. "I had a hunch." Abruptly he turns off the water and faces her. "I need you to promise me something, Quinn."

She nods.

"Promise me you and Rachel will be discreet about your relationship."

Quinn feels a pang in her chest. She might as well be back at home talking to her mom.

"Now, I'm obviously not saying this because I'm ashamed of either of you or because I disapprove of how you feel about each other. I'm saying this because we both know what kind of town we all live in. There are cruel people out there, people you're going to piss off just by being who you are. People who could hurt my daughter, and who have already hurt you."

Quinn sniffs and gives him the smallest of nods, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Leroy's tone softens again. "Be smart about this. Look out for each other—I know you both do a fabulous job of that already," he adds with a smile, and Quinn nods again. "And speaking of which…" He pauses. "I don't know what your situation is at home, but I want you to know that no matter what happens to you, or what you're going through, our door is always open." He holds her by the shoulders. "We are here for you."

A tear falls down her cheek before she can stop it and he pulls her close, holding her against his chest. She stiffens at first, because neither of her parents were ever huggers, but after a moment she lets herself relax into the embrace.

"Thank you," she whispers, closing her eyes and trying to absorb as much of this feeling as she can, this feeling of being held, of being loved, by a parent.

He gently lets her go and she wipes the moisture from her cheeks the best she can, and he rests a hand on her back while she composes herself.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

Quinn nods and smiles. "I'm okay."

"We've selected a movie," Rachel announces, returning from the living room with a DVD case in hand, and her eyebrows pull together in worry when she sees the slight wetness on Quinn's face.

"Excellent!" Leroy replies. "What's the verdict?"

"_The Producers_," she tells him, still looking cautiously at Quinn, "Your favorite."

"Yes," he hisses, pumping his fist victoriously.

She holds up the movie and he takes it from her, then heads for the living room. "Thank you, sweetie!" he calls over his shoulder.

Quinn gives her a confused look. "Are we not watching the movie with them?"

She shakes her head. "Wait here," she says before disappearing up the stairs, and Quinn fidgets with the hem of her shirt for an endless minute until Rachel finally comes back. She's carrying two sweatshirts in one arm and a blanket in another, and there's a shy smile on her face.

Rachel hands her one of the sweatshirts—navy blue with 'NEW YORK CITY' in big white letters—and Quinn puts it on, inhaling deeply as Rachel's scent envelops her, and once they're both bundled up, Rachel leads her out the back door.

In pitch dark Quinn can just barely make out a patio area with a table and chairs, but Rachel goes right past them toward a large tree in the middle of the back yard. It takes Quinn a moment to realize that there's an old wooden swing hanging from one of the lower branches.

Rachel holds it steady and takes a seat, then reaches for Quinn's hand and gently pulls her down beside her. She arranges the blanket behind them and, with each of them holding one end, they pull it snugly around both of their bodies.

The grass is cold but soft under Quinn's bare feet as she begins rocking them back and forth, the motions slow and steady and almost hypnotic. Rachel leans into her side and rests her head on Quinn's shoulder. Quinn rests her own head on top of Rachel's and breathes in the scent of her hair, and mixed with the smell of the grass and the flowers and the trees and _life_, and Quinn thinks it's the best breath of air she's ever had.

It's nearly silent out here, the only sounds being an occasional bird or a neighbor's voice in the distance. Quinn thinks about where she was twenty-four hours ago, sitting alone and invisible in her car, scared out of her mind of everything that was happening and of what lay ahead. She's still sitting in the dark now, but this time she doesn't feel invisible. She feels cared for, looked after, like she's finally a _part_ of something.

"Why were you crying?" Rachel asks suddenly, her voice gentle.

Quinn's takes a deep breath. "Your dad told me about—" She hesitates, unsure of how much Rachel knows. "He told me about something that happened to him once."

"Walking home from the party."

Quinn freezes. "You know about that?"

Rachel's fingertips trace patterns on the back of Quinn's palm. "He told me several years ago."

She listens to the chains creak with every movement of the swing. "That's why you wanted me to talk to them. About the assault."

"Did you?" Rachel asks softly.

"Yeah." She nibbles her lip. "Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

Quinn kisses her hair and inhales deeply, closing her eyes. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Caring about me."

Rachel tilts her head up and kisses her gently. "I don't know how _not_ to care about you."

She thinks of her mom and dad and all the not-caring they do, and her eyes are burning again.

Rachel notices and cups her cheek. "Quinn?"

She just shakes her head and brings their lips together again, and as she tastes Rachel's mouth over and over, the moisture looming behind her eyes disappears. Every kiss still takes her breath away; this is so brand new, the fact that she can kiss Rachel whenever she wants to, and that Rachel can kiss _her_, and every time she remembers that they're _here_, that they're _together_, it's just…

"You make me," Quinn murmurs between kisses, "so happy."

She can feel Rachel smiling against her lips. "The feeling is very"—she kisses her deeply—"_very_"—their tongues brush together—"mutual."

Quinn laughs softly. Their kisses slow and she leans her forehead against Rachel's, letting her eyes drift closed. "It's getting late," she whispers.

"It is."

She sighs. "I should probably go."

Rachel's fingertips ghost from her temple, down her cheek, and along her jaw. "Okay."

They get off the swing, Quinn's hand finding Rachel's automatically, and head back into the house. Quinn gets her stuff from upstairs, says a quick goodbye to Hiram and Leroy, and then she's at the front door, and she's done this so many times before but tonight is completely different. Tonight, Rachel steps close to her and wraps her arms around Quinn's neck, as if they're slow dancing. Tonight, they stare unabashedly into each other's eyes, no longer terrified of what that look means.

Tonight, Rachel kisses her goodbye properly.

* * *

><p>When she gets home the house is quiet and only the kitchen light is on, illuminating a small note on the table.<p>

_Quinnie—_

_Could you please come home right after school tomorrow? There are some things I'd like to talk to you about._

_Love,_

_Mom_

She reads it a few times, wondering what this is about. She can't tell if it's a demand or a pleasant request, and she chews the inside of her cheek as she mulls it over, then finally takes the note with her to her room so her mom knows she's seen it.

Quinn flops down on her bed and takes out her phone to send a message to Sam.

_**Everything went great. A lot better than I thought it would. Thanks for your support last night.**_

She sets her phone down and digs through her dresser for some pajamas, and she's midway through taking off her sweatshirt before she remembers that it's Rachel's. She pauses the motions as a smile spreads across her face, then takes it off completely, changes into a t-shirt, and puts it back on.

Her phone buzzes against the comforter and she grabs it.

_**Way to leave me hanging all night, Fabray! Glad it all worked out. I'm happy I could be there for you. :)**_

Quinn laughs softly and changes into a pair of pajama shorts before replying.

_**Sorry, I got a little distracted. How can I make it up to you?**_

She crawls under the covers and turns off the light. The sweatshirt is soft and warm and it still smells like Rachel, and she pulls the collar up to her nose, breathing it in over and over again.

Her phone vibrates once more and she squints at the brightness of the screen.

_**Naw, you're already forgiven. Just be happy—think you can handle that? ;)**_

Quinn smiles again.

_**I'll see what I can do.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong><strong>_I promise promise PROMISE the next chapter won't take a month and a bag of chips to finish. I already have part of it written and I SWEAR TO GOD it'll only take a few weeks at most. (Unless I decide to work on the Draw Your Swords update first. Then it might take longer. We shall see.)


	17. Expectations

**OKAY SO. For those who've been following this chapter's progress on tumblr, I finally decided to chop it in half. Mainly because I have to pack for school (I'm moving back Sunday, _sigh_) and I need to concentrate on packing rather than writing. Also because, predictably, I'm not going to have as much time to write once I have classes and work and shit again, so now the next update is already half-written. So here's a super huge apology ahead of time for the lack of updates that's about to happen.**

**All the awards to ProfessorSpork for her continuously superior beta-ing skills. Actual best person.**

* * *

><p>Quinn has never woken up with a smile on her face before.<p>

She turns off her alarm and sinks back into bed, pulling the hood of Rachel's sweatshirt over her head so the scent embedded within the soft fabric is all she can smell, and takes a deep breath in and out.

She thinks about last night, about talking and listening and touching—finally touching; about family and unconditional love and having a home. She thinks about the note from her mom and the terrifying ambiguity of the words on the paper and whether or not she should prepare for the worst, because even though Judy only _watched _her husband kick Quinn out sophomore year, she wouldn't put it past her mom to step up to the plate and do it herself this time.

But then she inhales deeply again and all her mind knows is Rachel and soft brown hair and the way her eyes change when she looks at Quinn, lit with an understanding of both what she feels for Quinn and what Quinn feels for her, and everything is okay.

Quinn takes her time sitting up and stretching, and there's still a dull ache in her ribs, but it doesn't make her grimace anymore. When she lifts up her shirt, she can barely see the bruise in the darkness of her room. It looks more like a shadow now, she thinks; something harmless and impermanent, something to be chased away by the sun.

* * *

><p>Her heart is racing as she walks down the hallway, but has nothing to do with the anticipation of seeing Rachel. Her mouth is dry and her palms are sweaty and she has to work to keep her breathing even, and it's all because she feels like somebody is going to... know. Somebody's going to look at her and see it written all over her face and tell everyone, and then she'll be the outcast all over again.<p>

Quinn tells herself to just act as normal as possible, but she doesn't even know what "normal" means anymore. Not gay? She can't think like that; she's let herself admit that she's attracted to a girl, let herself fall in love with a girl, let herself be in a _relationship_ with a girl… She's come farther than she ever thought she would, and she won't let herself take any steps backward.

Nobody can know that, though, and she steels herself to be as under-control as she possibly can. She and Rachel need to keep their interactions subtle, need to act as if they're _just friends_ and not give anybody a reason to suspect otherwise. Leroy's voice echoes through her head, telling her to be discreet, and Quinn holds that word in a mental death-grip.

But then she turns the corner and Rachel is already waiting at her locker with a huge smile on her face, one that doubles in size when she sees Quinn, and suddenly restraint is the most wretched concept in the universe.

There's a long list of things she instantly wants to do—hug Rachel so tightly she can't breathe, hold her hand, kiss her full on the lips—and she can't do _any_ of them. Her heart practically aches as she comes to a stop about a foot away from the girl, having to fight every cell in her body that wants to touch Rachel somehow.

"Hi, Quinn!" she greets immediately. "Are you ready to practice?"

Quinn blinks. "What?"

She smiles. "Your vocals! I was so flattered when you asked me for help—which is _nothing_ to be embarrassed about, because really, the desire to improve is the mark of a truly dedicated performer." She turns and starts down the hallway. "I'm free now if you'd like to get some practice in before class," she calls over her shoulder.

Quinn shakes her head but follows her to the choir room anyways.

"After you," Rachel says pleasantly, holding the door open, and once Quinn enters she closes and locks it.

"What are you-?" Quinn starts, but then Rachel takes her cheeks and pulls her in for a kiss and all coherent thought is gone.

"You have a stunning voice, for the record," Rachel mumbles against her lips. "But it explains why we're in the choir room alone, if anyone was listening."

Quinn's eyes snap open and her gaze flies to the tiny window in the door, terrified that somebody might be looking back at her; nobody's there and then Rachel is gently tugging Quinn's bottom lip between her teeth and their kiss deepens, and she relaxes.

But then there's a faint shout from the hallway and Quinn rips their mouths apart, backing away a few feet as she glances toward the door again.

Rachel's eyebrows pull together. "Are you okay?"

Quinn rifles a hand through her hair and nibbles her lip. "I'm sorry," she mutters. "I—It's not"—she bites her tongue before the "you" makes it out—"I just… we need to be…"

"Discreet," Rachel finishes for her. "My dads gave me the speech after you left last night." She takes Quinn's hand—slowly, cautiously, like she wants to give her the chance to pull it away—and brushes her thumb along the back of her palm. "_I'm_ sorry. I probably shouldn't have been so…" Rachel blushes. "I just really wanted to kiss you."

Quinn manages a soft laugh. "Believe me, the feeling is mutual." She brings Rachel's hand up to her mouth and kisses her knuckles. "We just have to be careful."

Rachel nods. "I know," she says, shifting her hand to caress Quinn's cheek. "It'll be okay, Quinn."

She leans into the touch and lets her eyes droop closed for a moment. "My mom wants to talk to me after school today."

"About what?"

"I'm not sure. She left a note that just said 'some things.'"

"What kinds of things?" Rachel's eyes widen. "Do you think she's… maybe… coming around?"

She shakes her head. "I doubt it. The last time we spoke I basically told her she was being a horrible mother. For all I know, that was the last straw and she's sending me to a convent."

Rachel fidgets with the hem of her skirt as she nibbles her lip. "You'll call me, right? If anything happens?"

Quinn gives her a small smile. "Of course."

"Good," she replies, but there's a heaviness in the way she says it that makes Quinn lean forward a bit.

"Rachel?" Quinn can tell just by her expression that there's something she's holding back. "Rach, talk to me," she says softly.

"I… _hate_," Rachel begins slowly, "That I wasn't there for you."

"What are you talking about?"

"When you were—when you got hurt," she continues, her voice quiet. "You went home, and then your mom didn't… I wish I'd been there for you."

"You _were_," Quinn replies, squeezing Rachel's hand, "When you followed me into the bathroom the next day, and when you brought me to your house, and when you stayed with me the whole night." She cups Rachel's cheek, brushing her fingertips along her jawbone. "Rachel, you're _always_ there."

Rachel's smile is watery as she opens her mouth to say something, but then the bell rings and she changes her mind. She gives Quinn a small but firm peck on the lips and they slowly walk to the door together, only letting go of each other's hands when Rachel reaches for the doorknob.

* * *

><p>Quinn officially hates being at school. She and Rachel were completely spoiled, spending the first several hours of their romantic relationship at the Berry house, where they were free to say what they wanted, do what they wanted, be who they <em>are<em>, without fear of judgment by the people around them.

Right now they're walking to the cafeteria, side-by-side but not holding hands, and Quinn keeps glancing down at Rachel's fingers because she hates the lack of connection. It's the most frustrating feeling, knowing that Rachel isn't going anywhere but wanting to keep them anchored together all the same; the times she held hands with Sam or Finn were mostly for appearance's sake, so everyone knew that they were together and shouldn't be messed with, and it's brutally ironic just how opposite the situation is now. This time, she's actually in love, but she has to keep it a secret.

They get in line and as Quinn grabs a sandwich she suddenly thinks about how boyfriends always buy stuff for their girlfriends, or carry their trays for them, or do _something_, and she glances at Rachel. "Do you, um… want anything?" She feels her cheeks burning and clears her throat. "I can get you something. If you want. They have vegan stuff here, right?"

Rachel's expression shifts from confusion to a smile. "No, unfortunately, which is why I always bring my own food." She squeezes Quinn's hand for a nanosecond. "But thank you."

Her palm instantly misses the contact and chases after Rachel's, but she curls her hand into a fist and forces it to remain at her side.

She pays for her food and they head for the door. "So, what are you practicing today?"

"Well, I have several ideas for the Regionals set list and I'd like to get a head start on the arrangements—"

"Hey, Quinn! Rachel!"

They turn around at the sound of Tina's voice and spot her sitting with Artie and Mercedes a few tables away, and Mercedes gestures for them to come over.

Rachel glances at Quinn, who shrugs, and they approach the table.

"Hello, everyone," Rachel greets, her hands clasped in front of her.

Quinn smiles shyly because she still hasn't talked to any of them since glee club yesterday. "Hey."

"You guys should join us," Mercedes says, patting the seat beside her. "We have so much catching up to do!"

Quinn sits down next to her and Rachel takes the seat across the table, and it takes everything she has to not reach over and hold her hand.

"We missed you so much, Quinn," Tina says as she eats her sandwich. "We practiced a swing number last week and Mike told me he wished you had been there because no one else can Lindy Hop like you."

She blushes. "I'm not _that_ great," she mumbles.

Artie waves a dismissive hand at her. "Don't even _try_ giving us that crap. You got _moves_."

Quinn glances up at Rachel out of habit, and when she sees the huge smile on her face, full of affection and confidence and _pride_, she almost forgets how to breathe.

"So," she says, tearing her eyes away from Rachel to glance at Mercedes, "You have to fill me in on all the glee club drama I've been missing."

Mercedes's smile turns mischievous. "Oh Lord, where do I _begin_?"

They spend the rest of the period listening intently to her play-by-play of everything that's happened both inside and outside of the choir room since the year started, with Artie and Tina each supplying bonus tidbits of information every once in a while, and the discussion goes right up to the dismissal bell.

"We'll continue this tomorrow," Mercedes says with a grin, and she and Tina head to their next class.

Quinn is about to join Rachel when she hears Artie call out to her.

"Quinn, wait up for a second?"

She tells Rachel she'll meet her in English, and then waits as Artie rolls up beside her. "What's up?"

He stops once they reach the hallway and when he looks up at her, his expression is serious. "I never got a chance to thank you."

She frowns. "For what?"

"For taking that slushy for me."

Quinn opens her mouth to say something but then closes it again, because suddenly her throat isn't working anymore.

Artie picks at his glove for a moment before meeting her eyes. "I know you were in a tough place… and you didn't have to do that." He smiles. "But you did. And that was… _insanely_ cool of you. So thank you."

A grin slowly spreads over her face and she bends down to give him a tight hug, and even though the height difference is a bit awkward, he squeezes her just as hard.

"It's good to have you back, Quinn."

She pulls away and tousles his hair a little. "It's good to _be_ back."

He smiles. "I'll see you in glee club."

Quinn nods. "Yes, you will," she agrees, and Artie winks at her then rolls away.

When she gets to class, the desk beside Rachel is one of the few still empty. She wonders if their classmates have done that on purpose, if she and Rachel have become this predictable, and in a moment of panic she considers taking a seat somewhere in the back, but then someone else gets there before she does. Quinn hesitates before slipping into her normal desk, and she doesn't look at Rachel until the teacher begins the lesson.

When she does, Rachel gives Quinn the smallest of nods and whispers, "It's okay."

Quinn takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then spends the rest of class trying simultaneously to hang on to Rachel's words and pay attention to the lecture.

She's calmed down a little by the time the bell rings, to the point where she starts to walk Rachel to her next class purely out of habit, but when she realizes what she's doing, she jerks to a stop.

"I'm gonna… I'll see you after school, okay?"

Rachel nods. "Of course," she says quietly, then turns and continues down the hallway alone.

Quinn bites her lip and heads to the bathroom, going directly to one of the sinks and splashing cold water on her face. She wills her pulse to slow, her muscles to relax, because if she's this anxious all day, she's going to be an exhausted mess by the time she gets home.

The door opens and her lips get ready to smile because maybe Rachel doubled back to say a proper goodbye, but then she looks up and it's The Mack, and her attempt at de-stressing goes out the window.

"Hey, Fabray. Haven't seen you in a while."

Quinn doesn't respond.

"You been busy or something?" She pulls out a cigarette and lighter. "You kinda disappeared on us. And really," she continues, taking a drag, leaning forward, and blowing the smoke directly into Quinn's face. "Is that any way to treat your friends?"

Quinn tries to hold her breath but her racing heart needs the oxygen and she breathes in, then immediately starts coughing.

The Mack smirks. "I mean, you can't have _too_ much going on, since you have so much time to hang out with Berry."

"What, are you spying on me now?" Quinn manages even though her throat feels tight, and The Mack laughs.

"So paranoid…" She takes another long drag and quickly blows the smoke at Quinn again, before she has time to hold her breath or move away, and then she's coughing so hard that the ache in her ribs is worse than it's been in days.

Quinn hunches over a little, clutching at the pain while she tries to stop coughing. Suddenly she feels The Mack's breath on her ear.

"You two are _adorable_ together, by the way," she says, her voice low, and then she's gone.

Quinn leans back against the wall and slides down to the floor, staring blankly ahead as her eyes start to burn.

It's amazing, how much damage The Mack can do without laying a finger on her.

* * *

><p>Rachel meets her at her locker after the final bell rings, and it's strange walking to the choir room with her, knowing that it's for glee club and not one of their private lunches, and that they won't be alone. Quinn spends the whole twenty-second walk keeping her eyes peeled for any Skanks while also trying to figure out how to act when they get there; half the club already knows about her and Rachel, but what about everyone else? Should they just come out and say it? Should they let them figure it out on their own?<p>

The hallways are clear of black clothing and cigarette smoke, so Quinn feels safe stopping just outside the room and gently grabbing Rachel's wrist. "Wait."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know how…" She takes a deep breath. "I don't know what to do. When we go in there. I mean, I know they're our friends, but I just… I don't know what to do."

Rachel's eyes flit between her own for a moment. "What are you afraid of?" It's not mocking or demeaning; it's a genuine question.

Quinn tries to put the words together, but her thoughts are a jumbled mess. "I don't know," she mumbles. "I'm just afraid."

Rachel nods slowly. "Okay. Well, let's think about who in that room knows about us already. Kurt… Blaine… Puck… Brittany… and Santana. Correct?"

"Correct."

"Now, let's figure out who doesn't know. That's Tina, Mike, Mercedes, Artie, Finn"—her voice shakes just a little—"…and Mr. Schue, I guess. Right?"

Quinn thinks about it and then nods. "Right."

"So, do you know any of those people to be homophobic?"

She shakes her head a little. "No."

"Do any of them treat the openly gay couples in the club differently than they treat everyone else?"

Quinn can feel her anxiety slipping away inch by inch. "No. I guess not."

"We all had lunch together today, Quinn. They _missed_ you, and they care about us."

Quinn nods some more, repeating the words over and over in her head until they stick.

Rachel smiles. "Are you ready to go in?"

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Yeah. I'm ready."

Rachel leads her to the door and holds it open for her, and as she crosses the threshold she almost reaches out to take Rachel's hand, but she decides against it. Rachel gestures for Quinn to pick somewhere to sit, and she spots two seats in the back row, right between Puck and Santana.

Rachel follows her up the risers and takes the seat next to Puck while Quinn takes the one next to Santana, and once Mr. Schue has settled into a speech about preparing for Regionals, Quinn can't help but stare at Rachel's hands, resting neatly in her lap. She glances around the room for a moment, checking for anyone who might be watching, and finally reaches over, takes one of Rachel's hands, and shifts so their arms are hanging between their chairs.

Puck notices the movement and cocks a suggestive eyebrow at Quinn, who raises her own and tries to stifle a smile as she gives him a small nod. He smirks and does a fist-pump and she gives him a look, but then Rachel's doing that thing with her thumb again and she instantly relaxes.

"Puck? Is there something you want to share with us?"

All eyes are on him now, but he just shrugs. "No, dude. I'm just really happy to be here."

Mr. Schue looks a bit confused but smiles. "Well, great energy. Like I was saying—"

"Why are you guys holding hands?"

The question is quiet, _so_ quiet, and it comes from Finn, who's staring up at them from the front row. Everyone looks at him, and when they see his gaze pointed at Quinn and Rachel, they suddenly have the spotlight. Rachel's fingers loosen, like she assumes Quinn will want to hide the contact, but Quinn tightens her grip.

"Why do you insist on being a nosey douchebag?" Santana retorts.

Finn ignores her. "Rachel, why are you holding Quinn's hand?"

"Finn, please," Rachel says, and now her own hand is tightening around Quinn's.

Puck sits up in his seat. "Dude, just leave it alone."

"Tell me why you're holding her hand!"

"We're together," Quinn says quietly, and the room goes completely still.

Finn is staring at her, his jaw muscle visibly working. "What?" he breathes.

Quinn wets her lips and meets everyone's eyes briefly before locking gazes with Finn again. "Rachel and I are together."

His eyebrows pull together in a mixture of hurt and confusion. "But… she was with _me_. She… she can't be with you. You're a—a _girl_, she's not… She's _not_. This doesn't make any sense."

"Finn, I'm…" Rachel begins, then swallows the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "No." He mutters the word over and over again and keeps shaking his head, and finally he stands up. "We broke up two _weeks_ ago," he barely croaks out as he leaves the room. They all tense, waiting for the door slam; it never comes.

There's a heavy silence as everyone looks at them again. Rachel starts to smooth her skirt, which would be completely normal if her hand wasn't shaking slightly. Puck covers it with his and Quinn can hear him mutter "He'll come around" into her ear before he gets up and leaves the room as well.

"Mr. Schue," Santana says pointedly, "I believe you were talking about Regionals."

He stares blankly at her for a moment but then seems to snap out of it. "Right! Uh, as I was saying, we really need some variety in our set list this time."

Quinn tunes him out to focus on Rachel. "Are you okay?" she whispers.

Rachel shrugs, but her expression is far from indifferent. "I probably should have expected that." She manages the smallest of smiles. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Well, I hadn't planned on _Finn_ prompting the announcement…" Quinn sighs. "But nobody's coming after us with Bible verses or demanding that we leave, so that's a plus."

Rachel doesn't respond right away. "You didn't let go," she murmurs. "When everyone was looking at us, you didn't let go of my hand."

Quinn just smiles and starts brushing her thumb back and forth like she's felt Rachel do so many times, and she feels Rachel's grip slowly relax in hers.

Mr. Schue ends up dismissing them early and the second he does, everyone gets up and starts talking to Quinn and Rachel all at once.

"I _knew_ there was something going on between you two," Mercedes says with a grin.

"You did not," Artie retorts, "We ate lunch with them today and you didn't notice a _thing_."

Tina rolls her eyes them. "You guys are really cute together," she tells Quinn and Rachel with a warm smile.

"I'm really happy for you," Mike adds, and he's smiling too.

"Thanks," Quinn says sincerely.

Tina grabs Mike's hand. "We should all go out together sometime!"

"I… um…"

"We're not quite ready for that yet," Rachel replies for her, "But thank you for the offer."

"Speaking of which," Quinn mutters, then turns to everyone else and raises her voice. "We need you all to promise us that this will stay in the choir room. This is… really new to us, and we're not… Just, please don't tell anyone outside the glee club."

"We promise," Kurt replies without missing a beat.

"Definitely," Tina agrees just as Mike says "Of course."

Artie rolls a little closer to them, nodding. "You can count on us."

"We got your back," Mercedes says.

"I pinky-promise," Brittany adds. "I mean, I can't use my pinky right now because my hand is still really tired from—"

"We _both_ pinky-promise," Santana interrupts.

Quinn has to stifle a laugh. "_Thank you_." She and Rachel head for the door but Kurt intercepts them in a tight hug.

"I'm so proud of both of you," he whispers, squeezing them so hard they can't breathe.

When he finally loosens his hold, Rachel takes his hand into both of hers. "Kurt, could you… Could you relay the message to Finn?" she asks quietly. "To keep this a secret?"

He nods. "I'll make sure he knows."

She smiles gratefully. "Thank you," she says, then turns to Quinn. "Walk you to your car?"

Quinn nods and they leave the room, and the instant the door closes behind them, she feels like they're in a different world. The halls are empty and silent; the warmth, the feeling of _safety_ that saturates the choir room is nowhere to be found, and so even though there's no one else in sight, Quinn keeps several inches between her and Rachel as they walk through the school.

Their cars are among only a handful of other vehicles in the parking lot when they get outside, and Quinn's hand itches to grab on to Rachel's but she decides against it. Every step she takes toward her Toyota makes her heart beat faster, because it's just starting to hit her that she's about to go home and have a talk with her mom. She wishes the note hadn't been so vague, that she knew whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, because the anticipation is killing her.

"Good luck with your mom," Rachel says once they reach Quinn's car.

"Thanks," Quinn murmurs, glancing around the parking lot to see if anyone's around. She's almost completely positive that they're alone out here and her eyes keep dipping to Rachel's lips because she wants to kiss her goodbye, dammit, but there's still a tiny part of her that's terrified someone will see them.

She wraps her fingers around the door handle and pulls slowly, indecision nearly ripping her in half. "Get in for a second," she says after a moment, jerking her head toward the passenger's side, and Rachel follows the instruction with no hesitation.

And then they're both in the car, and the doors are closed, and Quinn leans across the center console and her mouth just fits so _perfectly_ against Rachel's.

A hand cups the back of her neck to pull her closer and her fingers are already tangled in Rachel's hair, and _God_ she hates that this kiss ever has to end, but she really needs to go find out what her mom wants before all of this wondering gives her an aneurism.

"I have to go," Quinn breathes against Rachel's lips, even though she hasn't stopped kissing her yet.

"I've been wanting to do this all day," Rachel says, and then their tongues meet and one of them moans, or maybe both of them do, but the fact of the matter is Quinn still hasn't stopped kissing her.

"Yeah," she manages even as Rachel's mouth presses against hers again, but when Rachel pulls away slightly to get a better angle, Quinn grips her by her shoulders and keeps her from leaning in again. "I really have to go."

Rachel nods. "I, um. I really hope..." She takes a deep breath. "Good luck," she says finally, and her voice is tight.

Quinn takes her hand and holds it firmly. "Thank you."

Rachel nods, and then she's gone.

Quinn starts the car and pulls out of the lot and now her heart is _really_ going, because all she can think about is what her mom could possibly want to say to her. She just… she can't fathom it being anything good, and there are several points along her route home where she considers just turning around and spending another evening at Rachel's, blissfully unaware of what's going on with her mom.

She turns onto her street and she's so lost in her own head that she nearly crashes into a car parked on the side of the road, and it will officially be a miracle if she makes it through the rest of the day without having a stroke.

The driveway is empty when she pulls in, which means her mom isn't here, and she can't decide if it's relief or dread that sweeps through her body. A part of her is glad they don't have to have this discussion right away, but there's another part that just wants to get it over with already.

Quinn steps inside the house and drops her bag by the stairs, then tosses her keys onto the nearby table, and she's flipping through the mail when she hears the unmistakable clink of ice against glass coming from the living room. She freezes.

"Mom?" Her voice shakes just a little in the silence.

There's no response so she takes a few slow steps toward the doorway. She almost feels like Katie from _Paranormal Activity_, tiptoeing through her house, searching for the source of a noise that shouldn't be there, and she decides it's a _lot_ scarier when it's happening in real life.

Quinn hears the ice again just as she turns the corner, and then she jerks to a stop and every cell on her body is on red alert.

Her father is sitting on the couch.

"Good afternoon, Quinn," he greets with a smile, his tone pleasant. He takes a sip of what looks like lemonade. "Have a seat."

She swallows hard but doesn't move. "No thank you." Where's her mom? Why is Russell here? Did Judy _plan_ this?

He gestures to the armchair across from him. "Please, I insist."

"I'm fine."

His calm demeanor vanishes. "Sit down, Quinn," he says coldly, and the hair on the back of her neck stands up.

She takes a few deep breaths to steady herself. "No."

He shakes his head. "What happened to you? You used to respect us."

Quinn's heart practically shatters at the word "us"; she really is alone. Hurt and anger flare up inside of her. "What _respect_?" she blurts, "I was _scared_ of you."

"Do _not_ talk back to me, young lady," he all but growls, and she can't stop herself from flinching. "I should have known your mother wouldn't be able to keep you in line. Not after you got yourself _pregnant_ under my roof," he continues, spitting out the word like it's the most vulgar curse in the English language. He crosses his leg over his knee and examines his shiny black leather show. "I had a rather interesting conversation with her last night."

Quinn's heart is pounding. Is this her punishment for finally standing up for herself?

"She seems to think that this… _thing_ you're doing, he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "is acceptable. That it's not an abomination to our entire family."

Her eyes are burning. She _what_?

"So I thought I'd come by to talk some sense into her, in person… but here _you_ are." He looks up at her and now her hands are shaking. "And I've always thought it was best to go directly to the source of a problem." He takes another drink of lemonade, sets the glass back down gently, and turns back to her. "Just what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

Quinn struggles to make her voice work. "I don't know what you're—"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" he roars, getting to his feet, and she backs away a step. "Your mother told me all about what's been going on with you and that girl… that the _Berrys_' _daughter_ has you behaving this way. How could you let those perverts taint you?"

She feels a pang in her chest at his words. "They didn't do anything to me. This is who I am."

"This is _not_ who you are," he says, his voice rising again. "I didn't bring you into this world so you could burn in Hell!"

"No," she mutters under her breath as she wipes away a tear, "You threw me out of it so I could freeze on the street."

If he heard her, he doesn't show it. "You are young and confused and naïve, but you are _not_ a homosexual."

Quinn shakes her head as another tear falls. "You're wrong," she says through the lump in her throat.

"I am your _father_," he thunders, and she jumps.

She sets her jaw and looks directly into his eyes. "You stopped being my father when you kicked me out two years ago."

His face turns an ugly shade of purple. "How _dare_ you!" he explodes, coming toward her and then lunging for her arm, but just as his fingers clamp around her wrist, another voice stops him.

"Russell!"

They both freeze and look to the doorway, where Judy is standing between two dropped grocery bags, her eyes wide and angry.

A small sob tears through Quinn's lungs and it sounds deafening in the silence.

"Let go of her," Judy demands, and Quinn has never heard her use this tone before; it's strong and authoritative and it gives her chills.

Russell glares at her before forcefully dropping Quinn's arm, and she backs away as she massages the reddened skin.

"What are you doing here?" Judy's tone is icy.

"I thought we could have a chat, face-to face. Apparently it's the only way to get anyone in this house to think rationally." He points at Quinn. "Why are you letting our daughter ruin her life?"

"I believe I made my feelings about that perfectly clear during our phone call."

"The only thing you made clear is that for God knows what reason, you're allowing this deviant behavior to happen."

The tendons in her neck are as taut as Quinn's ever seen them. "It isn't something we can or cannot _allow_ to happen, Russell. It's beyond our control." She takes a deep breath. "And I think it's beyond Quinn's control, as well." She glances at Quinn and there's a quiet warmth in her eyes.

As her dad looks from her to Judy and back again, Quinn doesn't think she's ever seen such a dangerous expression on his face.

"You _disgust_ me," he says, his tone dripping with venom, and Quinn's face crumples just a little.

"The feeling is mutual," her mom replies, then crosses her arms.

Quinn stares at her in awe.

He turns to her, eyes blazing. "This is my house and I'm not leaving it until we resolve this little situation of ours."

Quinn sees her mom clench her jaw a few times.

"Lucy," she says, her voice surprisingly calm, "I think it would be best if you stayed with a friend for the night."

Her breath catches in her throat. "Mom…"

She looks Quinn in the eye now. "I'm sure there's someone who would take you in on such short notice," she continues pointedly.

Quinn feels like she's going into cardiac arrest. "Are you sure?" she whispers. She's suddenly terrified of leaving her mom alone with him.

Judy nods once. "I'm sure."

She looks once more at her dad before leaving the room, and she wipes the moisture from her cheeks as she grabs her bag and goes upstairs. Her hands are shaking (_an abomination to our entire family_) as she searches her drawers and closet for pajamas (_How could you let those perverts taint you?_) and a change of clothes and stuffs them in her old Cheerios duffel (_You disgust me_). She slips on Rachel's sweatshirt then takes her duffel and her school bag, and even as she practically chokes on the overwhelming déjà-vu, she keeps breathing and keeps walking because now, unlike last time, she has somewhere to go.

She can hear her parents arguing but none of the words register in her ears as she gets her keys from the table in the foyer, slips out of the house, and gets back into her car.

The drive there is a numb blur; somehow her lungs keep breathing and her hands and feet operate the car and her eyes register the stops signs and turns until finally she reaches her destination. She kills the engine and grabs her stuff and by some miracle makes it to the front door.

Rachel appears shortly after she rings the bell. "Quinn! How did it go with—?" Her face changes. "Quinn, you're shaking. What happened?"

Quinn lets out a shuddering breath and a tear falls. "My dad was there," she whispers, her voice cracking.

Rachel's eyes widen and she reaches up to cup Quinn's cheeks. "Are you okay?"

Quinn lets her bags slide off her shoulder and drop to the floor. "I don't…" Her sentence is cut off by a sob. "I don't know."

Rachel's arms are around her in an instant and she lets herself be swallowed by the embrace, her chin resting on Rachel's shoulder as her trembling arms hold the girl as close as physically possible.

"Was it a…?" Rachel begins, but then she pauses like she can't get the words out. "Did she ask him to come?"

"No," Quinn chokes out, "She was angry at him for showing up. She… she _defended_ me, Rachel." She tries to take slow, deep breaths. "She's never done that before. Not with the pregnancy… not with this." She sniffs and her eyes are blurry with tears again. "I don't understand."

Rachel is gently combing her fingers through Quinn's hair. "Maybe she doesn't want to let people hurt you anymore," she whispers.

Quinn can feel herself start to hyperventilate again. "What if he hurts _her_? She's there alone with him… I shouldn't have left her alone. She told me to leave but I shouldn't have, I should've stayed, I should've…" She dissolves into another round of sobs and Rachel rubs her back gently.

"Shhhh," she whispers, pressing a light kiss to the side of Quinn's neck.

She squeezes her eyes closed and focuses on the smell of Rachel's shampoo, on the warmth of her body heat and how steady she is despite the fact that Quinn is still trembling.

"Do you want to sit down?" Rachel asks softly.

Quinn swallows thickly and nods. "Yeah."

Rachel pulls away just enough so she can reach around Quinn and close the front door, and then she clasps their hands together and leads her to the couch. Rachel sits down first, leaning back against the armrest so she's almost lying flat, and Quinn follows, using Rachel's chest as a pillow and wrapping an arm around her waist while Rachel begins to rub her back again.

Tears are still leaking from her eyes but Rachel's gentle caresses up and down her spine are calming her down a little. Rachel uses her other hand to brush Quinn's hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear and then she kisses the top of her head.

"He said I'm an abomination," she murmurs against Rachel's shirt. "And I disgust him." Her bottom lip quivers as she says it and she thinks she hears Rachel sniff back tears. "I'm _not_ an abomination," she says, and her voice is thick but still sure. "I'm _not_ disgusting."

Rachel's hand shifts to cup Quinn's cheek and she lifts her head to look into her watery brown eyes. "No, you're not," she agrees as the moisture brims over, "And I'm _so_ proud of you for knowing that." Her voice cracks partway through her sentence and by the end tears are flowing freely.

Quinn leans up and kisses her deeply, tasting the salt from their tears as their lips connect, and then relaxes against her chest again. She likes that she fits in Rachel's arms just as perfectly as Rachel fits in hers, as if their bodies were pre-designed to be this close.

The hand on her back stills and Rachel continues running her fingers through her hair, and the sensation is so relaxing that Quinn's eyes droop closed. She wonders what's happening back home right now; if her parents are still fighting, if her dad has left yet, what they might have said to each other. She remembers the phone call they both mentioned: Did her mom really tell him she was okay with Quinn being gay? And since when is she not afraid to tell him he's wrong? Her mind is reeling from the sudden change and all the information she feels like she's missing.

Somebody comes in the front door and Quinn opens her eyes and starts to sit up, but Rachel holds her down.

"You're home early, Dad."

"Hey, babygirl," Leroy greets with a smile. "My meeting went a lot quicker than I thought it would." His gaze shifts to Quinn and her red-rimmed eyes, and he looks concerned now. "Hi, Quinn." He glances between her and Rachel. "Is everything okay?"

Rachel continues combing her fingers through Quinn's hair. "She's going to spend the night," she says simply.

He smiles again, and it's so kind that it makes Quinn smile a little too. "Sounds good to me. We always love your company," he says with a wink before heading up the stairs.

Quinn settles against Rachel again and traces the pattern on her dress with her fingertip. "Maybe I should've called the police," she mumbles. "I mean, my dad's not a violent person… today was the first time he's ever laid a finger on me… but—"

"He _what_?" Rachel gasps, her entire body stiffening. "Oh my god, did he hurt you? What did he do?"

"He just grabbed my arm," she says, flexing her wrist, "It's not a big deal."

"Does it hurt? Do you need to put ice on it?"

Quinn sits up a little so she can look her in the eye. "Rachel, I'm fine. I promise." She starts to play with Rachel's necklace. "It's my mom I'm worried about. That look on his face… it was even worse than when he found out I was pregnant."

"Quinn, you're one of the strongest people I know. And you have to have gotten that from _someone_, right?" She swallows. "If she has even an _ounce_ of the strength that you do… I-I think she'll be okay."

Quinn nods slowly, trying not to hear the uncertainty in Rachel's voice. "I really hope so," she whispers. For a minute she watches the rise and fall of Rachel's chest as she breathes in and out, but then she pushes herself up off the couch and heads toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asks, scrambling to sit up.

Quinn doesn't answer, just rifles through her school bag until her fingers close around the hard plastic of her cell phone. She comes back to the couch and sets it on the coffee table, then leans over to rest her head in Rachel's lap and curls into a ball.

Rachel's fingers are instantly in her hair, moving in slow, gentle strokes, as Quinn stares at her phone, mentally willing the screen to light up with the word "MOM."

"She'll be okay," Rachel says softly.

Quinn takes a deep breath in and out. "Can you say that every five minutes until she calls?"

She feels Rachel laugh a little and then reach for the remote. She turns on the TV and flips through the channels for a bit, stopping when she finds _Cupcake Wars_.

"She'll be okay."

Quinn keeps breathing.

* * *

><p><strong>A few more important announcements:<strong>

**I will at some point in the near future be re-naming this fic; it will change from "Pink" to "Give Your Heart a Break". (Yes, after the Demi Lovato song. JUST LISTEN TO THE LYRICS YOU'LL UNDERSTAND.)**

**I will also be re-writing (and I'm already in the process of doing so) the first few chapters of this fic. They'll be longer, and more in-depth, and basically BETTER. Look forward to it, yo.**

**Also: REVIEW THIS THING.**


	18. Author's Note

Hey everyone,

I know it's been an insanely long time since I've updated, and I do apologize for that—I had a really intense semester that gave me zero time to write, and there was nothing I could do about it.

But now that I've made it to winter break and my creative abilities have been restored, I've decided to put this story on Semi-Hiatus-But-Actually-Not-Really-Just-Let-Me-Explain. I've been planning to write a new, better beginning to Pink for a long time (aka Give Your Heart a Break, which I mentioned in my last update), and now that I've started that project (and I now have bigger and better plans for it than I originally I did), I think it's much more worth it to put all of my effort into that instead of continuing this fic, which stands on such an unstable foundation.

I'll be posting GYHAB as a new story on both here and AO3, so I would advise you to either subscribe to Author Alert or just keep an eye out for it. It will be the same general story, just with a much stronger first half. I'll even be posting the first chapter later today, so you won't have to wait too long for your first taste.

Thank you guys for your patience, and for your feedback, and I really hope you stick with me through this switch.

-Kelsey


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